Little Secrets
by Airavata
Summary: Two years into the Brave New World, specials face a startling response from society. As Claire reflects on the unexpected changes, including a hidden affair with Sylar, he decides to surprise her at the Bennet house. Meanwhile, he hasn't been telling Claire the whole truth about their past college encounter, and unseen events threaten to reveal everything they swore to keep secret.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Fanfiction story. I was inspired by the fantastic writing of Kiara Gray, SomberSerenity, and HaleKent, among others. This story takes place in two volumes, the first from Claire's perspective, and the second from Sylar's. This was just for fun, so please let me know what you think. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

**VOLUME ONE: BREAKFAST AT THE BENNETS' **

* * *

Her eyes slowly fluttered open and the rough outline of his jaw came into focus. How long had he been watching her, in anticipation of her waking? His ebony eyes were alert, not clouded by recent stirrings. Two minutes? Ten? Claire blinked away the sleep and exhaled deeply. She felt fingers trace all the way down from her shoulder blade until they came to a rest on her waist. She couldn't believe it had only been four months since she had experienced his touch. Yesterday, before his sudden appearance at her window, it had felt like so much longer.

"What time is it?" she managed to groan, turning her face and mess of blond hair into the grey pillow.

"Early enough to stay just where we are."

Claire nodded in agreement and pulling up the sheet to keep from shivering. Even though the blinding white saturating her window frame promised a sweltering day, mornings in Costa Verde could be quite chilly.

"Aw, don't be like that." Sylar smirked, pulling back the sheet to expose her bare form.

"Stop!" she giggled, only to be rolled over onto him until her chin came to a rest on his chest. She lifted her head enough to catch his mouth in hers, closing her eyes as his fingers danced across her frame.

~o~

It had been this dance for a while now. Next week would mark the two year anniversary of her fateful face plant from the ferris wheel. That high stake, impulsive decision that threatened to shatter everything that her father and the others had worked for. What gear had shifted in her brain, what synapse had formed, to compel her to make this rash decision? It may have simply been on a whim caused by the adrenaline that coursed through her as Samuel's dangerous reign ended before her eyes. However, something told her it was more than that. She witnessed her people, her _friends_, skulking in the crowd after they accomplished the difficult task of both saving many lives and remaining inconspicuous. They achieved what they had initially thought impossible, yet Claire's heart ached at this anti-climatic denouement. There would be no parade or medals for her people, and the oblivious public would carry on in their humanly ways, almost as if they had never stared down death that night. This realization stung, and perhaps that was why she jumped. She never sought recognition herself, but to think that her own heroes should forever remain nameless was inconceivable.

Claire glanced around a room that appeared as if Hiro had trapped it in time on the day she moved out three years ago. She had been living in an apartment off campus near her college in West Virginia and had come back to Costa Verde to spend time with her family over the summer. It meant she was away from Sylar over that time, who was busy helping Peter in New York with providing support to outed specials. Claire eyes fluttered open, and her gaze fell upon Samuel's forgotten compass resting on a nearby shelf. She recalled how she had felt a split second of doubt while the carnival ground rushed towards her. It was clear that there would be consequences, but until that millisecond before collision, it was clear that nothing would ever be the same. That volume had ended that night. In the early dawn of the new volume, her people all drew a collective breath in anticipation of the impending hysteria. However, the early aftermath was to her and to everyone else's surprise, rather dull. There were no soldiers breaking into houses or mass arrests. She heard offhand of a few killings carried out by both sides, but for the most part it seemed that the public response had been encouraging. The media leaped onto the stories, science institutions performed their regulated tests, and a few more specials outed themselves in turn. She was slightly disappointed that, for the first time in years, she didn't have the excuse of fleeing a company or fighting enemies to get out of school. Aside from some religious groups decrying the end of days, public interest shifted from fervor, to curiosity, and finally to general apathy. Claire would overhear conversations at school, like:

_'Hey, did you hear about that special who doesn't need to breathe air? They could probably go to Mars, then. I heard there is a rover there already.'_

_'That's cool. Hey, did you see that video of the cat riding the roomba?' _

Claire guessed that this discovery was simply re-shifting what it means to be human, and like landing on the moon or Mars, the novelty wore off as soon as it became a routine fact. Normalcy, like any other human value, was all relative. This was a surprising but not an unforeseeable outcome. However, what Claire could never have anticipated was this dance that developed with Sylar not long after the jump.

She glanced up at his determined gaze and sighed softly. Their transformation happened so fast. Ever since he had forcibly confided in her at college and awoken her to their commonalities, things associated with him became a different shade of color. _I won't say gray, she cringed. _Hate is a heavy load to carry on top of her courses, and Claire tried as she might to keep on hating him in their brave New World. Whenever Peter would recount his and Sylar's confusing five psychological years spent together in the dead city and she felt pangs of sympathy, she would intentionally replay the hurtful events in her mind to grasp at familiar sensations of contempt. Nathan's death. Her head spilling open over the coffee table magazines. At first it had been easy for her; in the time where Claire's minor celebrity status grew in the wake of her jump, his interactions were cordial, at a physical distance, and most importantly, few. Fortunately, the media frenzy died down after six months, in which her role took a backstage and her people's fears subsided. In response, their priorities shifted to political and social rights of specials. It was during this shift when tension between Claire and Sylar noticeably dropped. Moments shared with Sylar increased due to the public relations efforts, and her habit of recalling bad memories grew more tiresome. Sometimes it was just easier to talk with him than to find a way to challenge his new-found hero status. Her jaw always ached in his presence, until one day, while sitting across from him and glaring at a specials benefit dinner, she just let it go. Claire had heard once that it takes more muscles to frown than smile, and the previous six months had been exhausting enough without energy spent on vitriol.

Now, two years on, she never would have fathomed what Sylar would become to her.

~o~

Sylar yawned and stretched before pulling Claire further on top of him to kiss her neck. She was familiar with his pattern of foreplay, and as tempting as it was, she could hear the distinct sound of pots clanging and low murmurs in the kitchen below. However quiet they might think they could be, it was too great a risk. Claire tilted her head and brushed a stray lock of black hair from his temple. "Sorry Sy, but-"

Suddenly, a loud knock cut through the air. Claire's eyes darted to the lock on her door. Had she remembered to turn the key after he showed up last night? Icicles formed up the back of her neck as the door handle turned.


	2. Chapter 2

"Don't worry, I locked it." Sylar mumbled.

She turned to him, incredulous. "When? How?"

Sylar flipped her onto her back with his mind and adjusted his posture until he was pressed next to her. "In the throes of passion, of course." He drew out the word _throes _with a roll of his tongue. Claire had to make a conscious effort to focus on the door. Claire hushed him, listening. Another knock.

"Claire Bear, you up yet? It's past 10. I told you yesterday your mother wanted to make us waffles this morning. They're going to get cold." At the sound of her father's voice, Claire instinctively shoved Sylar off of her and pulled up the plaid covers.

"Us?" she yelled while placing a hand over Sylar's mouth, also instinctively. "You mean you and Lauren?"

Noah didn't respond. Claire could tell her father wasn't keen to spend breakfast alone with both his ex-wife and current partner. Saturday breakfasts together were her family's attempt at normalcy, and sometimes she wondered if he only pushed having her and Lyle there to cut the tension.

Uh... Yea, I'm up." She added, "Just a few minutes ok? I'm getting dressed."

"OK, well hurry up! We aren't going to wait for you for long."

Footsteps, then silence.

Sylar flopped over onto his stomach. "What is with everybody and waffles?"

Ignoring him, Claire clumsily leapt out of the disaster of a bed and began frantically searching for clean clothes among piles on the floor. "Fuuuuuuck this was a bad idea!"

As she pulled a wrinkled blue sundress over her head, Claire glanced over at Sylar stretched out. He was now face down, completely sprawled out on the bed, and evidently trying to fight sleep. He looked both ridiculous and charming with one his bare feet sticking out of the end of the bed and hair in complete disarray. _What a dummy, _she thought, _To think how much I hated you. I gave up hating you as easily as I gave up on first year chemistry_. When she had finally let go of the hate after the early few months, her demeanor changed; her mouth softened and her arms no longer remained crossed in his presence. Sylar obviously sensed this and responded in turn by testing her wildcat nature through occasional sarcastic quips and a careful touch here or there. The playful teasing and "Hey cheerleader" soon returned, much to her chagrin. Claire even saw her own face on his arm again after months of it hidden away by long sleeves during the hot summer days. (She could actually see it now, partially concealed by a pillow). Claire supposed he was embarrassed by the mark among his newly discovered friends, and had once overheard him talking to Peter about getting it covered. However, her face seemed to appear more often after she warmed up to him, and she had caught him on a few occasions staring at it while lost in thought, his mind a world away but eyes glued to the tattoo. It was endearing at the time. _Now he just draws a moustache and hat on it to piss me off_, she thought.

Encounters with Sylar became more frequent after Noah and Tracy took the lead on a public relations campaign with Suresh, who they had managed to rope in as a science liaison. With Hiro in Japan, there were the frequent long car rides with Noah, Angela and Peter in a cramped car to Suresh's place to assist with his presentations. As the youngest of the group, Sylar, Peter, and Claire always found themselves automatically designated to the back, as if on some awkward family road trip. Claire would relish the sight of Sylar struggling to get comfortable with his too-long legs and would tease him relentlessly about it. There were also the many awkward shufflings past each other in narrow hallways, obligatory embraces during social reunions, and that was one particularly rowdy Patrelli party that continued well into the morning where the two ended up crashing on the same bed. Although their regenerative abilities prevented either of them from getting inebriated, the lack of sleep had a similar effect and overwhelmed her normal inhibitions about such an arrangement.  
Then there were the stares. She would be just arriving to a meeting or dinner in a carefully chosen outfit and would catch his striking gaze in her periphery, which would transform into an unfocused indifference as soon as she turned to meet his eyes. But she knew.

As they spent more time together during that time, her thoughts frequently went back to that storage room in college. Suresh would be leading a discussion on the pro's and con's of special DNA screening or whatnot and Claire's thoughts would stray to the plaid bandana and herself sitting among the brooms, dumbfounded. She had tried to rationalize her fixation. She reasoned that it had to be because that conversation with Sylar remained unfinished. _It had to be_, she had thought.

~o~

_Where the hell is my skirt?_

Tossing clothes around in a fit, she eventually spotted the black pleats nested under Sylar's bare stomach. He had dozed off again, snoring softly, so she tried to extract it without disturbing him.

Claire zipped up her skirt and turned to her covert guest, who had just begun to stir from his lounging position. He watched her, eyes barely half open, as she scurried around the room to conceal any evidence of his visit. Claire grabbed his watch from the night table and placed it on the bed with a pile of his clothes from the previous night.

"You should probably take off now, but I can meet you somewhere after breakfast OK?"

"What, you don't want to just sleep in all day?" He rolled over in a tangle of sheets until his neck was tilted over the side edge of the bed. With lanky arms reaching off the bed over his head, he stared at her upside down and grinned.

She sighed. "I really wish we could. The last thing I want to do right now is watch Lauren faun over my dad. Ugh. I'm supposed to go shopping with my mom today after lunch, but I can just make up some excuse."

"Like what, that you have a date with a serial killer?"

She hated when he would remind her of that. The horror had long ago worn off, but the thought always made her skin tingle in a peculiar way. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling – actually, it excited her – and that realization disturbed her deeply. She tried to laugh it off.

"OK, do I get to choose the sexiest one?" Claire sat on the bed and playfully tugged at his hair.

"Har har. Hilarious. Ok, then say you are dating particularly bad one. Like Dahmer, or Hannibal."

"Why?"

"Because compared to an old cannibal psychopath, I'm quite the angel."

"Like Gabriel," she smiled.

"Mmhm! And so when they all finally see us together, they'll think,_ well at least he's not Dahmer_. I'll be golden."

She frowned. He seemed to be bringing up the issue of publicizing their – _dare I say it? Relationship? _– _No... __interactions_. She didn't know what it was, but when it remained hidden, it didn't have to be defined. Although sneaking around had brought a certain thrill to their "interactions", she could sense now that he was no longer content with being concealed away like some great shame. Regardless of how the topic came up, mention of their public debut always triggered flutters in her core. _Were they only nerves?_ Nerves were definitely there, she was certain of that. She suspected that it was due to her worry that others might already know. During quiet afternoons on the porch with a book that summer, she frequently found herself reading the same line over and over until her thoughts turned to what that would entail if others found out. Sylar had little impulse control and there was risk that his brazen flirting might arouse suspicion. On the anniversary of Nathan's death, months earlier, Sylar had grabbed and squeezed her hand as he walked past her in the hallway, and she had to do a 180 to make sure they were alone. This was not the first and only time this happened, either. Her father had stared across at Sylar at the dinner table that evening, a bit _too_ long and hard that should from Sylar's expression that he was count the seconds and milliseconds. Claire was paranoid – she knew that. However, when had watched her father's gaze waned and Sylar finally take a breath, in the moment had vowed to be extra careful or else they would be holding a different vigil a year from then.

She had good reason to worry, since the stakes were high. Worst case scenario, her family would disown her for turning to the man who had tormented each and every one of them at some point in time. _Well, except for Mr. Muggles, _she thought. This future seemed very unlikely, but considering the strain that her relationships with her father, mother, and brother – _and Mr. Muggles– _had endured, it wasn't completely unfounded. Even if her family could overlook her indiscretion, Sylar would most likely be branded as a predator and would be cast out of their group. Any trust he had earned during the New World would rendered void. In a better future, the level-headed ones of the group – Peter, Suresh, and Matt – would view her as a vulnerable schoolgirl infatuated with an older man. This may lead them to question her and her decision to jump, and thus everything they had worked toward. However, no matter how many times she played it over in her head, even the best case scenario always involved the forceful removal of Sylar from her life. That thought alone made her feel physically ill.

Claire sat down on the bed. She ran her hand over Sylar's shoulder and leaned down to kiss him. "In time we will, Sy." He gave a half-hearted smile back, and she wasn't sure he believed her, or even if she did herself. This discussion always made Claire squirm, so she deflected. "So how about we meet at D'Arcy's for brunch at 12? Then there is somewhere special I want to take you."

"Hold on, I want to get a shower first." He stretched and yawned, pulling himself slowly until his feel resting off the edge of the bed. He sauntered across the room fully unclothed, but stopped to pick up a glass pomeranian ornament sitting on her dresser. "Cute". It was dark when he arrived yesterday, so now his eyes gazed around at all her knicknacks; the stacks of books, a few teddy bears here and there, and Claire felt her cheeks flush. She had felt a bit embarrassed at the realization that this was his first visit to her teenage bedroom, which no longer represented who she was. Like her, it was trapped in time. However, he hadn't yet teased her about it. She figured he may be enjoying learning a bit more about the girl who captured his desire years ago.

Claire grabbed her towel and brought it to him at the door of her bathroom. "OK, but after that could you please go? We have been _so_ good at being careful. Let's not mess that up!"

Sylar took the towel but pulled her waist toward him. "I dunno, I wouldn't say that you've been very good, Clarisse, after what you did to me last night..."

He grinned at her devilishly, and she rolled her eyes but couldn't help smirking. They both had had a great night. It had been so long that they had been together. Months earlier, when Claire had told him that she would be leaving for the summer, it had irked her how he had barely raised an eyebrow. "Hoping to have a chance at summer tryouts?" was all he could comment on the matter. However, on their last evening together at his place before she caught a flight home, she noticed how much tighter he held her how much he tried to delay her departure. She considered, perhaps, that his initial reaction had simply been a cover for something yet unspoken. She could not even admit it yet to herself, but she could at least confess that his surprise visit was a fantasy of hers during those lonely hot months. Therefore, when he appeared floating at her window on the warm August night without warning, she couldn't even feign anger for his foolhardiness at showing up at her parent's house. He made it easy to cave.

~o~

At the sound of the shower sputtering, Claire made a half-hearted effort to straighten out the tornado-stricken room to hide any remaining indication of a visitor. Her parents had recently dumped a stack of books in the corner of her room so Claire had to step over an exercise bike to reach her dresser and toss in Sylar's sweatshirt. It was her room now only in namesake. She looked down and picked up the most recent addition to the pile, "The Pillars of the Earth". Sylar had given to her on her first visit to his flat in Brooklyn over a year ago. It was clear it held special significance to him for the time spent behind the wall but he never said why. A year after the dawn of the New World, during Tracy's public relations campaign, much of her time was spent with Sylar as they waited for news or directives. The group had decided it was best to keep the two of them out of the spotlight, with Claire's desirable power and Sylar's unflattering history. Usually she just had to wait around at his place until Noah or Peter picked her up on their way back from a press meeting. Sylar's bachelor was unnaturally tidy_ -_ _a place for everything and everything in its place, _she had mused - but not sterile and grey, as she expected. On her visits, her eyes would dart around in fascination at his collection of timepieces, compasses and books, and each time there would be something new that she would then admire and turn it over in her hands. They would talk to fill the time of waiting, but never continuing on from the storage room or stolen kiss left off. That was usually how it went.

One night he put on a film to kill time, although Claire could not recall now what one it was, only of the _do-they-make-all-love-seats-this-small _couch and _is-his-knee-pressing-mine _thoughts. The film continued well past midnight, but her racing heart (_could he still hear perfectly?)_ had kept her alert as Sylar nodded off. She finally felt herself drifting near the end of the film, only to be startled awake by Sylar's form trembling next to her. Sylar's chest had begun heaving and face flushed with sweat. When she placed a hand on his arm he jumped, his eyes darting around the room before settling on her.

"You're here." he had sighed, sounding relieved.

Claire would have laughed at the comment had she not noticed the panic in his eyes.

"Every night," he told her, breathing heavily and rubbing his face, " I wake up and can't tell if I'm still trapped _there._ For a few minutes I can't remember which world is real. But even when I do, it never helps."

"Helps what?"

He rubbed his eyes. "Get rid of that worry that _this _freedom is the dream. I keep thinking, everyday, that I'll wake up and this will be the dream. What if I never left that dead city?"

"Lights don't work in dreams."

"What?"

"Could you turn on lights in the dead city?"

"Hmm, I don't know... Actually, now that I think about, I think so, but they always flickered or took too long to turn on, like they were thinking."

"Exactly! When some people practice lucid dreaming, they will turn on light switches every time they enter a room to test if they are dreaming. This is real because look! " She reached to the lamp on the table beside her and flicked the switch on and off, where the light appeared and disappeared without delay, "We're real. Maybe this could stop some of the confusion when you wake up."

Sylar narrowed his brow in concentration. "Yea, maybe that could help..."

"Or we could always the traditional way," she added.

"What's that? ...OW!" he cried in pain as she pinched the back of his arm. He feigned a glare, then smiled and rested his head back on the seat before closing his eyes again. Claire was happy to have livened up the mood. Soon he drifted off again, this time into a evidently peaceful sleep, with his mouth hanging slightly ajar and hands splayed open. The old Claire would have delighted in witnessing this suffering. Seeing that vulnerability, with his facade down, made Claire felt sick in her stomach at the thought of him having to relive that isolated prison every night. She soon her phone buzz signalling the arrival of her ride, but ignored it and continued to keep a watchful eye on him. She tried to imagine herself in that prison, but all she could think was, w_ere his eyelashes always that long?_

_~o~_

Sylar was still occupied in the shower, so once dressed and readied, Claire grabbed her brush walked over a pile of clothes to cautiously open the door. She peered to and right down the long narrow hallway and was pleased to see it empty. _Good. Everyone must still be downstairs. _She didn't enjoy the idea of sending Sylar back out the window like some teenage lover, so she settled for a back door escape instead. It wouldn't be too difficult since the upstairs hall was separated from the rest of the house leading to stairs and an outside entrance. Satisfied, she pulled in her head back in and tried to swing the door shut, but only to hear a _thunk_. Confused, Claire opened the door again to find the man with the horn rimmed glasses standing there, his glasses in disarray and fist still raised in preparation to knock.

"Oh! Sorry dad! I didn't see you. Are you ok?"

Noah rubbed his forehead and grimaced.

She gave him a pleading look. "I'm still not ready. I'll be just another minute, ok?" and again slam the door shut. However, his hand caught it mid-swing. In spite of her resistance on the door, Noah managed to manoeuvre his way through the gap into her room.

_What the hell did he think he was doing? _Claire was about to give him an earful on privacy, when her heart sank. She suddenly became aware of silence. The shower had just stopped.

"Claire..." His eyes filled with a look of consternation, darted to the bathroom door. "Is someone _here_ with you?"

"No."

"Then who the hell just took a shower?"

"Dad, wait, I can explain... I.."

Claire could still recall with perfect clarity the soul-chilling sensation of being frozen alive by Tracy years before, but it was nothing in comparison to the ice crawling across her skin as she turned and saw the bathroom door slowly open.

_So this is it,_ Claire thought, defeated. _This is how the Sylar the Great, Sylar the Immortal, will die. At the hands of my own father._


	3. Chapter 3

Claire's mind raced to find the lie suitable for what her father was about to witness, but no scenario could fully justify a half-naked – _o god, please let him at least be wearing a towel _– Sylar sauntering into her bedroom. Her heart sank, knowing that this was sure to be the end of her and Sylar. Claire was always aware that they had an expiry date. She just wasn't prepared for it to happen so soon, especially after such fleeting time together following so many months apart. She had hidden this secret for so long now – it was hard to think that Sylar's sweet (_yet now, admittedly, short-sighted_) gesture could be their undoing.

~o~

Those few seconds where the door handle twisted stretched into days. Like a life flashing before one's eyes, her mind went back to the day of their _interaction's _birth, less than a year earlier. It all began after a national announcement of a new bill being pushed by the right-wing party requiring mandatory registration of specials. There was a press briefing planned for that evening, so she and her family joined the others at their main base near Central Park, the Petrelli mansion, to face the news together. The turnout was strong, with the Petrelis, Hiro, Ando, Tracy, Rene, Lauren, Micah, Suresh, Sylar and Parkman all present. As they listened to the vice-president discuss possible rulings, Claire glanced around the ornate parlor at tightened lips and frowns. Peter was the only one who wore little visible sign of concern on his face. He had supported Claire's decision to jump since the start, and he was vocal in his belief that he would not have done anything differently.

In spite of Peter's protests, it was clear after the briefing that everyone else was beginning to lose their sense of security, especially Noah. An animated debate soon developed on whether or not this news required immediate action. By midnight, the majority agreed that relocation would be a suitable precaution until they could assess the public response to the briefing. Noah was adamant that Claire should stay away from her family home and her apartment, much to the chagrin of both Sandra and Claire. Claire protested, although only feebly. As the poster child of their movement, she was well aware that she would be the most visible target if things were to go south. It was when the discussion turned to where she should stay when an argument ensued.

"No. There is no way in hell I am going to let her stay there." Noah's face was flushed red and he glared at Angela with clenched fists. Hiro and Peter stood nearby with exasperated expressions.

Angela remained calm in spite of her obvious frustration. "You want her to be safe tonight. Neither your home nor mine is adequate. She will have protection! That is what you want, isn't it?"

"Protection? What about protection from HIM_?"_ Noah's strained fingers drew a line across the room to where Sylar stood in a grey jacket, shifting uncomfortably. He had been noticeably silent since this discussion began. Peter placed a hand on Noah's arm to calm him down.

Claire covered her face with her hands and groaned.

"O my God, dad. You are making this a bigger issue than it has to be. It was _just_ an idea."

"And a good one, I believe!" Angela added, rising from her seat on the chaise lounge to stand behind Claire and place hands on her shoulders. "Noah, I thought we were past this. The rest of us have moved on. He's done his time. There are more_ important_ things to dwell on."

"I don't care if he spent 1000 years in solitude. In fact, I wish the bastard had. You all may have fallen for his superficial charm, but he's still a monster, one that I will _not_ condone being alone with my daughter."

Claire could feel her face flush. It never failed her father to make her feel like a child again. However, like clockwork, she retaliated by engaging in the same game that she and her father had been playing since the first eclipse.

"It doesn't matter what you say, I'm going, ok? I'm so tired of having this debate with you... I'm an adult now and have proven over and over that I can take care of myself. Maybe one day you'll finally see that..." she paused to take a breath. "It will be fine, ok? I'll see you tomorrow back here. I have my phone."

She marched past her father and Peter to catch Hiro by the wrist and drag him back across the room by the shirt sleeve. Sylar immediately came to stand by her side. She looped her arm around Sylar's partly in defiance, partly because she thought she may fall over from trembling.

Noah turned to his daughter. "Like hell you are. Claire, just because you are in college now you think you know how this world works and can selfishly do what you please, but you don't know jack shit! You may have had every injury under the sun, but you have _no _idea what real suffering is. There are real consequences. This type of brazen behaviour is why we're all in this mess you started-"

Claire squeezed Hiro's arm and they were gone before Claire could hear the rest.

Hiro quickly dropped them off and disappeared before Claire could apologize for her crass behaviour. Immediately Claire tossed Sylar's arm off of her own and stormed into his living room to curl up on his familiar couch. She could feel her nails cutting into her palms, relishing how they tingled with the memory of pain. Her father's humiliating tone rang in her head. She felt conviction she had felt in her decision to jump – one she desperately grasped onto as she had glanced around the room at sorrowful faces that evening – was now ousted by a sense of sickening doubt. _How they had all looked at her!_ She felt ill. Sylar stared at her without a word. He walked around the couch and sitting down at an angle where his body appeared to be pushing away. With her face locked in her hands, Claire's breathing grew heavy. When she noticed the first of her tears darken her grey skirt that pulled awkwardly across her knees, the sobs began to follow.

Her body shuddered with each shrill intake of breath. Guilt welled in her like a tide and she could feel the words spill out among the tears before she could reflect on who was her audience.

"After all we're been through, he still doesn't trust my decisions. But what if he's right? What if all I choose to do is selfish? What if it was an irrational, childish decision to jump. Anything that happens is my responsibility. And if people die..." she stood up and turned to Sylar. "What will that make me?..."

This non-physical pain she _could_ feel, and she wanted to displace it to something, someone else.

"...A monster, like you?—Inhuman, ALONE?" she could taste the venom on her tongue. "—After all, you did say that we are so much alike."

She kept her eyes narrowed on his, expecting her words to illicit the same hurt expression in the early days when her tight-jawed retorts had called his reformed ways into question. She kept her fists clenched, hoping to see a return of his fury and fire and prove her words right. Instead, his expression softened and he raised himself to face her, his form towering a head above her own. He wrapped his long arms around her and pulled her chest to his. She inhaled and held her breath, but soon the sobs returned. He steadied her as she pressed her face against him and her core shook. They stood there for how long, she didn't know. It had been so long since someone held her, and she felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. His warmth was calming, and as her breathing settled she moved an arm up to rest her hands against the back of his neck. She felt a fire in her core take charge and ran her hand through his dark hair. Standing up on her toes, she kissed his cheek softly, feeling her wet face graze his stubble. She became distinctly aware of the thrumming of her own chest. Sylar pulled his arm tighter across her back and looked down. In an instant, like a reflex, their lips were pressed. At first he kissed her gently, gracefully, pulling her tighter in waves of pressure as she lost herself in his touch. It was entirely surreal. Suddenly nothing else existed; there were no specials, there was no need for heroes, and she had never jumped. All that remained in the universe was the air sucking into her lungs as Sylar's careful hands slid down her hips to tease at her skirt. When she moved her other arm around his neck, their kiss suddenly grew more feverish. Breathless, they sound found themselves back on the loveseat, Sylar's heavy form covering her in entirety as his touch traced every curve.

She could taste his heated desire on his lips, and amid her desperate gasps she recalled a similar arrangement on a couch where he had forcefully read her soul. With the empath's power, Claire knew Sylar was aware of exactly what she wanted. Even more, he knew exactly how to make her purr.

~o~

Claire awoke next to him on his bed, her eyes puffy from the previous night's tears. She heard him breathing softly as memories of the night came back, and she felt a twang of fear on how this would change things forever. Pushing the thought aside, she immersed herself in the warmth of his bare arms around her. She decided then that the consequences of the evening and whatever trouble it might bring were something that a future Claire could worry about. Smiling, she closed her eyes and quickly drifted back to sleep.

For the first few months, it seemed to be just about the sex. Their conversations were often cut short by their passions interfering. Finding time and excuses to see each other alone was difficult with the many demands of the publicity campaign and her father's watchful eye, but Claire somehow found ways.

As they carried on in hiding, the thoughts of the storage room soon returned. Soon there were more nights spent at hotels just talking than chests pressed. Their first night together had been a quick ascent to their summit, and Claire was surprised to find that she had stayed at that peak since. There was always that longings whenever they separated, and it was worrying her. The irony of falling for your old enemy wasn't lost on Claire, and she would quickly push out the thought whenever it caught her off guard, although it always found its way back in. _Thanks a lot, Past Claire, _she groaned to herself.

~o~

_(Present day)_

As the bathroom door swung fully open, Claire considered lunging at her father to block his view, but she found herself unable to move. Her legs had turned to butter. From the corner of her eye, Claire saw a jay pass by the window and could discern every feather shifting in slow motion. When the figure at the door came into focus, Claire had to hold the nearby dresser to keep from falling over. Both Claire and Noah's mouth dropped open as their eyes fell upon a beautiful brunette wrapped in a mauve towel.


	4. Chapter 4

She looked to be in her 30's, with long sleek hair that fell nearly to her waist. The towel was wrapped tightly and discretely around her tall form, but it did little to conceal her buxom nature. With one hand holding the cloth in place at her chest, she quickly strode across the room to Noah and shook his hand tightly.

"You must be Mr Bennet. I've heard so much about you! I'm Hanna."

Droplets of water still clung to her olive skin and dark eyelashes. As she blinked, one fell and trickled down her prominent cheekbones to the corner of her rose-coloured lips.

"Nice.. to meet you, Hanna. So how do you know...?"

"Claire? Oh, from class at college. I hope you don't mind me crashing. I was in town yesterday and we haven't seen each other in ages, so we went out for drinks last night. I didn't realize how late it was to catch the bus back, so she said I could stay over.I'll be catching the Greyhound later today."

Claire stared incredulously as her guest tilted her head to the side to carefully pad a small towel down her long wet locks. Claire noticed that he had kept his own eyes. _The bastard._

"We tried not to wake you".

Noah turned his attention to Claire beside him. "You went out drinking?"

"Um...Yea, so?" When it came to her indiscretions with Sylar, Claire had told herself that she would no longer lie to her family. She decided to only let them know what they needed to know, but right now as getting harder to only stick to the untruths. Suddenly the open door looked like a welcoming invitation.

"Claire, I am really disappointed in you-"

"Holy crap, dad, seriously? I'm 20."

"You're still underage!"

"Wow sometimes I forget that." 'Hanna' added quietly, grinning.

Crossing her arms, Claire mumbled, "It's not like I can actually get drunk..."

"Claire, we have talked about this. Sneaking out, and well.. next time.." Noah paused as if lost in thought.

_O my god, is my dad distracted? _Claire caught sight as her father's gaze struggled to remain at eye level of her partner in female skin.

"I mean, Claire, I know its college, but...you need to learn, well, when I was _your_ age..."

Words of coherence failed to form. Hanna draped her small towel around her neck and smiled a half smile. _Godammit I know that look._ He is basking in this.

Noah caught his words and drew an exasperated breath. "Just... be careful, ok Claire Bear?"

"Of course, dad. You know I always am." She turned to give her father a small hug and looked up at him. She ordered her own her face to contort to the shape of a reassuring smile – _ok show teeth but not too much teeth so you don't look like you are grimacing _– and hoped it passed as real. Noah nodded in return, and then turned his attention to her guest.

"Well, Hanna, we were about to have breakfast, waffles actually, so you are welcome to join us if you want!" He gave a tooth-filled grin, perhaps a _bit_ too long for Claire's taste.

"Ok thanks but Hanna has to actually go now bu-bye." Claire quickly nudged her father out of the door, nearly slamming it behind him.

~o~

Turning to the beautiful stranger in her room, all Claire could muster was "Sylar, like, what the fuck?"

Hanna's body melted and reverted to his true self right before Claire's eyes. It took a moment for Sylar to notice the towel and shift it to the appropriate level at his waist. He shook his head to move short black lock from his eyes, sending tiny droplets of water around him. "Hmm, I never realized I looked good in purple."

Claire just stood there speechless.

"Its... mauve." she finally stammered after moments of silence.

Sylar grinned sheepishly and placed his arm around her waist. "So I think your father might finally have warmed up to me!"

The horrified expression resting on Claire's face slowly relaxed and her heart stopped racing. She gave him a playful punch in his triceps.

"Yeah, yeah, now you're in his good books. Sylar, that was _by far_ the creepiest thing you've ever done..."  
Sylar frowned slightly, so Claire continued. "But... I was about to have a heart attack when he came in, so I guess that was a pretty clever save." She touched his face lightly and smiled, rolling her eyes. "Always my hero."

Sylar moved to kiss Claire, but instinctively she turned to cast a worrisome glance toward the door_._ Returning her gaze to him, she added, "Sorry Sy, but now I you REALLY should go. My dad could come back any second. I promise I won't be long here; we can meet at that corner cafe on Sparks street at 1 if you want." She grabbed the pile of his clothes sitting on the bed with one hand – _ can't believe dad didn't notice that – _and tugged on his arm to lead him toward the door, but she sensed his resistance. Claire turned to Sylar, and his voice was nearly a whimper.

"But... waffles."

Claire looked back up into his dark longing eyes and sighed. She couldn't believe she was actually going to go through with this.


	5. Chapter 5

Sylar was still in his normal form when they exited Claire's room. This time she had made sure to check both ways down the hallway first.

"So why the name Hanna? Is this your alter ego when I'm asleep?" she teased.

"Oh c'mon, I thought you'd catch the reference, my little Clair-isse."

Claire closed the door behind them and led the way down the hall. "You've got me".

From behind her, Sylar made a strange sucking sound with his teeth.

_That's my serial killer, _she thought. "OK, Hannibal... we've almost reached the stairs, so please change back into your prettier version now."

~o~

"Oh, thank you so much Mrs Bennet, that's plenty".

Sandra piled the waffles onto a plate and passed it to 'Hanna'. The four Bennets and two guests sat around the kitchen table, which was completely covered with an assortment of fruit, yogurt, and of course, waffles. If it weren't for the fact for that there was an indestructible girl and the incognito shape-shifter present, it would appear like a normal dysfunctional family breakfast. However, as much as her father tried with these gatherings, her family would never be anything close to normal. Lauren stood up from her seat next to Noah to pour a round of coffee or tea for everyone. It was always weird having her father and Lauren over at her mother's house, but they were being surprisingly civil to each other. Nevertheless, whenever Lauren showed up, her mother always seemed to have some errand to run or friend to visit. Today it looked like she had run out of excuses.

Claire made a half-hearted attempt at her food, but her appetite had been replaced by a stomach full of nerves. The morning sun shone in her eyes, making her squint. However, she couldn't look away from this wolf in, well, _her_ clothing sitting next to her at the end of the oval table. _What was she thinking with this night tryst at her mother's house? How stupid!_

"So Hanna, how did you say you knew Claire?" Her father was seated at the opposite end of the table and tried to keep his eyes at face level of the wolf sitting straight across from him.

Hanna took a moment to swallow her mouthful. "Oh, I didn't! We go to the same college."

Sandra sat down beside 'her' and gave a small piece of waffle to Mr. Muggles sitting on her lap. "Oh? Are you in the same program?"

"No, I'm just finishing up my Masters and just went back to undergrad to pick up a few courses I missed."

Noah's interest perked. "What Masters program would that be?"

"Criminology; I think I want to work for the FBI eventually." Hanna added as she poured syrup over her plate.

_He's thought of everything,_ Claire grumbled to herself while mindlessly digging again at her first waffle.

"Like Clarisse Starling in Silence of the Lambs?" Lauren piped in, "I loved that book. I always thought that would be such an interesting job."

"Exactly." Hanna smirked.

Noah turned and pointed his fork at Claire. _Great. Here it comes. _"Claire, I think you could really learn from your friend here... I can't believe you were still undeclared in second year, even with a psychology minor; whatever _that_ is. You're going to have to make up your mind pretty soon..."

It seemed that Sandra could automatically sense where the conversation would go, as it frequently did, so she changed the subject before things got heated. "So did you two meet at Cheer practice?"

_Oh my god, Sylar cheering. _Claire no longer partook in cheerleading, but it turned out to be a useful untruth for explaining her frequent evening absences to see Sylar or to get out of tedious public relations activities. Her parents always assumed she kept it up, and with them living across the country, she just avoided correcting them.

Hanna jumped in before Claire could think of a suitable story. "Actually, Claire and I had a second year psych course together, and ended up as partners for a project."

"That's nice, what class was that?" Sandra inquired.

"The psychology of human sexuality. You know, all about the complex dynamics of sex, intimacy, fetishes, that sort of stuff._ Really_ fascina-" Hanna was interrupted by the sound of a choking cough as Claire failed to swallow a bite of food. "Fascinating!" Hanna continued, "You know, Claire REALLY knows her stuff. " She glanced over at Claire and raised her eyebrows, "I don't think your daughter knows how smart she really is. She helped me so much in that course, and actually kept me up a few nights studying, too."

Claire realized now that she was wrong before when she thought her father would kill Sylar. She was pretty certain now that _she_ would do the honor.

~o~

"This is really delicious, Mrs. B!"

"Oh, thank you, Hanna." Sandra beamed, before turning to her daughter. "Claire, I didn't know you took that...class. You never tell us anything about that school; I thought we were all over being secretive. And I'm surprised we haven't met your friend before! You are so quiet now about college; it's nice seeing you with some new friends other than just that Gretchen girl."

"Or any..." muttered Lyle behind his PSP screen. Claire spun to scowl at him.

Reaching across the table for another helping of waffle and strawberries, Hanna continued. "To be honest, I was a big fan of Claire before we even met in that class. Her – _unique _–talent made her quite popular around the campus way before I knew her. It was pretty much all anyone talked about for, like, ever. If you don't mind me asking, Noah, can I call you Noah? Does anyone else in your family have a special gift like Claire?"

Claire's father shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Um, I'm not sure if Claire old you this already..."

"I'm adopted, remember?" Claire growled through a clenched smile.

"Oh, right!" Sylar continued, "but I mean, you know, do you know _other_ people with abilities? Like, anyone who can shapeshift or move things with their mind, or something cool like that?"

Noah's mouth slouched open as an uneaten piece of waffle fell off the fork in his frozen hand. Upon seeing her father's expression, Claire reached around with her foot but she was too far away to kick Sylar. Instead she caught a bored Lyle next to her. He stayed fixed on his PSP as he automatically returned the favour of a kick without a side glance.

Noah placed down his hovering fork and sighed. "Well, I guess our new family motto is to an open book. This will take some getting used to... so yes, there are individuals – an individual – we know who can do that. But you don't have to worry."

"Why would I worry? Are they dangerous?"

"Well..." Noah gave Claire a pleading look. The open book policy was never part of the Company's training. He continued. "No, I mean, yes – some _can_ be – but so can some regular people. It's no different. There are always going to be bad apples, but the majority of Specials are just like you and me. I mean, even with normal people, you never know who could be a serial killer. You probably know more about that than anyone."

Claire's eyes widened. "What?" she gasped. _What was he letting on? Did he figure it out? Was he playing them?_

"Because of her criminology degree." Noah added, looking slightly confused.

Hanna piped in, "Haha, right! Speaking of that, do you know if there is an FBI organization just for Specials? I would be really interested in looking into that."

Sandra stood up abruptly, knocking the table and nearly causing Claire's orange juice to topple. Mr. Muggles let out a shrill bark from the floor. "Seconds, anyone?" Claire noticed that she gave Noah a _let's-watch-how-much-we-share-with-our-guests_ look. "Your friend sure has a southern appetite, not that you could tell with that figure. Claire! You have barely touched yours."

"They're great, mom I'm just trying to watch what I eat now. All that unhealthy college food." she lied.

Hanna turned to Sandra now at the stove. "I keep telling her she doesn't need to! Look at her, she's gorgeous! If I was a guy I wouldn't be able to keep my eyes off of her."

A smile appeared on Claire's lips and she managed to suppress it. Sylar's compliments were always cryptic or non-verbal. If verbal, much of it was variations of "you're special". As eloquent as he could be, she saw the return of awkward Gabriel whenever conveying his emotions for her were concerned. Regardless, when they happened they always caught her off-guard. Even with him in his female form, she felt a flutter.

"That's my Claire-Bear," Noah smiled.

The group ate in silence, and Lauren eyed Sandra nervously. Claire twirled her fork at the two cold waffles that lay pillaged on her plate. The quiet was broken when Hanna leaned down to give "_Little Fluffy_" a piece of waffle. Hanna had already wolfed most of her seconds and was picking at the fruit when Noah's eyes fell on her arm. "Your watch.. I know that kind..." In 0.042 seconds, Hanna's eyes met Claire's in horror, but they both managed to keep their composure. Sylar had absentmindedly put it on when getting ready that morning. It came so routine to him and Claire never saw him without it. She was aware that in the beginning its damaged face was a symbol of his transition into his new powerful identity. However, after returning from the dead city, he had made a great effort to repair it... mirroring what he had done with himself. The brunette's eyes automatically fell to her wrist, where the heavy watch hung loosely.

"Strange having that..." Noah muttered in thought.

"Oh, this? It's a Sylar Field Edition...or something. They're pretty common. I know, weird wearing a man's watch. I inherited it from my father after he died in Afghanistan. Apparently it's vintage, modeled after some Russian watch after the first World War. It is one of the best makes and—"

Finally getting the right angle, Claire managed to manoeuvre a leg to catch Sylar in the shin. Startled, Hanna swung her watch-bearing arm out and knocked over her nearly empty glass of orange juice. The glass cracked open as it hit the plate and rolled back towards the edge of the table. In a quick move, Hanna managed to catch it before it smashed on the floor. Hanna placed the broken glass on the table next to her. "O no, so sorry about that."

"Don't worry, it's no matter." Sandra sighed reassuringly, yet her eyes enlarged when she saw the glass coated with a smear of blood, "Oh no, you're bleeding! Claire, go grab a bandage and a towel."

_O fuck you have got to be kidding me!_ Claire nearly facepalmed while Hanna instinctively grabbed a napkin to hide her cut finger. Sandra stood up and pulled Hanna by the arm. "Let's go wash it out quickly. There could be some glass in it."

Claire sat like a deer in the headlights, unable to move, until she finally jumped up running to the downstairs bathroom to scramble find a bandage. _Anything. Just anything to hide his healing! _When she quickly returned with a box, her gut curled when she heard Sandra from the sink next to Hanna.

"Strange, I don't see the cut".

"Oh, it's right at the nail."

"Really? I don't see it."

As Sandra reached for Hanna's hand again, Hanna feigned a gasp of pain and pulled it away. She turned her back to the sink to face Claire, who quickly wrapped a large bandage around random finger. "Thanks!" Hanna exclaimed, but Sylar's eyes yelled at her, _Ok, I think I've had enough fun for today._

Hanna raised her covered finger to show Sandra, who beamed, "Great! All better. Anyone for more coffee?"

~o~

Claire brought a pile of dishes to the sink and glanced wearily at the door. This had gone on long enough.

"So will you ladies be staying for lunch?" Noah asked.

"What's for lunch?" Hanna replied.

Claire interrupted. "Actually, we are just about to head into town for the day."

"Hot yoga." Hanna added. "We're learning some new positions."

Claire had to resist the urge to both laugh and cry simultaneously.

Sandra turned to her daughter from loading the dishwasher. "Claire, I thought we were going shopping later?"

_Lies, lies, lies. _"Ugh, sorry mom. I was going to tell you earlier but I totally forgot." She pulled out her best pleading daughter eyes. "I mean, I haven't seen Hanna all summer, and well, is it ok if we go tomorrow instead?"

"Oh, of course. I guess Mr. Muggles and I can find something to do, can't we Mr. Muggles?" She picked up her prize Pomeranian, but Claire felt a pit in her stomach to hear disappointment in her mother's voice.

Noah stood up and picked up his empty plate. "Fair enough. Well if you two change your minds and stick around, my old partner will be coming by to review that new Specials rights bill which you, Hanna, might find interesting. We are talking specifically about dangerous Specials."

Claire nodded. "Ok maybe, dad! ...Wait, what? Your old partner is coming over? When?"

"Really, Claire, we talked about this yesterday." There was a loud click from the sound of the front door opening. "That should be him now." Noah smiled and nodded before walking towards the entrance.

Claire's head swung right and her eyes widened at the sight of the Haitian standing in their foyer. Her eyes immediately darted to Hanna. Except she wasn't fully Hanna anymore. Streaks of black appeared in the base of her hair and her chin sprouted a hint of stubble.

Claire feigned a glance at her empty wrist. "Shit it's already 11. Sorry mom we have to run, yoga class is in 20 and we need to get our stuff together. Thanks for breakfast we'll see you later bye!" She leapt up out of her seat and stumbled to Hanna's side, grabbing her by the now-hairy arm. She pulled her towards the stairway, where they could make their escape to the back door. From the corner of her eye she could see Rene moving towards them. _O god,_ _did he know? _Claire pulled hard on Hanna/Sylar's wrist but sensed resistance. Without turning his familiar face full to the rest of them, Sylar managed reach back against Claire's pull and grab the remaining syrup-soaked waffle off his plate. "Carbs for yoga. Thank you again, Mrs B! It was delicious, bye!"

With his target acquired, he finally accepted Claire's urging and moved with her at a quick pace toward the curved staircase. Claire and Sylar raced up the stairs with his hand still in hers. Claire tried to look back as they stumbled upwards, but was too distracted by Sylar's growth in height and widening shoulders to see whether anyone at the table had their eyes on the two of them.

The rest of the group watched as the two disappeared up to Claire's room. Lauren quickly turned her head to Noah, her face in near shock.

"Did you see that?"

"What?" Noah, asked, concerned.

"Uh... Noah... How long has your daughter been a lesbian?"

Noah and Sandra exchanged a dumbfounded look.

~o~

Claire slammed the door to the back door shut and grasped the handle to steady herself. She leaned against the wood and inhaled deeply. It did nothing to calm the strange sensation of drowning that began at the sight of the Haitian. The drumming in her chest was so heavy that she was pretty certain it was deafening to Sylar's sensitive ears. "O my god, you...you..."

Sylar, now fully himself and in his own clothes, grinned feverishly. Claire slid her back down until she was resting on the stone step with her hands on her knees. "You are insane, you know."

He shrugged and smiled before leaning an arm back behind his head. "Eh, makes life interesting." Stepping towards her, he reached down to pull her up by the hands before placing his arm across her shoulders. Her hand reached up and took his in turn. The two strode across the garden and out of the back gate.

"Alright Claire, let's go get you some breakfast."

* * *

**END OF VOLUME ONE.**

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading! Finally have Volume Two in development, but ****posting chapters may take a bit longer due to a busy school schedule. However, I was totally inspired by amazing feedback to keep writing, so here it goes!**


	6. Chapter 6

**VOLUME TWO: THE BEACH HOUSE**

* * *

The close call at breakfast at the Bennets' had Claire on the edge all afternoon. Sylar tried to down play the seriousness of the event to cheer her up, but Claire couldn't help but mull over it during her second breakfast at the cafe. Sylar was well aware that Claire's family had recently been overcast by a shadow of mistrust and deceit. Over eggs and coffee, she explain to him how her stomach had knotted on the days she lied to her father about West. How her last words to him before his "death" were venom caused by dishonesty, and how she had never felt so much regret. Since her father's near death, she had vowed to never deceive those she cared about ever again. She knew she was deluding herself that her lack of a mention of her relationship with Sylar was somehow different from lying. However, after witnessing Sylar at their breakfast table waffling down waffles in disguise, she stated that it became harder to maintain this fantasy.

~o~

The late Texan sun blazed down onto the formidable structure and baked the metal grating. Sylar held onto the rail on each side of Claire's hips, ignoring the searing in his hands. They had flown all the way to Texas that afternoon. Sylar was hesitant about the trip, but Claire was insistent about going on a "picnic" at this delapidated gravel plant. After the insanity at her mother's house, he was pretty certain that Claire just wanted to get as far away from her family as possible. They were back in Odessa, the city of their unfortunate first meetings. The large platform on which they stood creaked as Sylar shifted his weight to his other leg. Although Claire had been the one to drag him up to the top of the structure, as he pressed his hips against hers and arched her back, she suddenly tensed up. Her mind seemed to still be in Costa Verda.

"What's wrong, Cheerleader?"

"I can't get that image of you as a chick out of my head. I guess I just can't see you as a sexual being anymore."

He closed his eyes and could feel a tingling at the base of his sternum. "Liar. I thought you were into college girls."

Claire glared at him but he saw the hint of a smirk at the edges of her lips.

"Besides," he added, throwing his head back and pulling an arm behind his neck, "I thought you could use a break from all of this masculinity." Her cheeks finally contorted as she failed to stifle a laugh. He felt her hand grasp his.

"It was close, too close. I'm just not ready for them to know, ok? That really scared me back there."

There was a pang in his ribcage at that word. He never intended to scare her, just have a bit of fun. However, he suddenly felt sick but couldn't really pinpoint why. Could it be the fact he added negative feelings to her life, even though he had vowed to himself to only do her good? _Perhaps... _However, the taste of bile rose in his throat when he thought about how Claire's greatest fear was simply their interactions being known to the others. _Of course_, he understood it now. He was her greatest shame.

His demeanor immediately changed and he took a step back from her on the metal grate. "I didn't realize – I'm sorry, Claire. I guess I got a bit carried away. I have to admit, it was just nice to have a taste of that part of your life. But now that I've tasted it, I know it won't fit for me."

She looked perplexed. "Why is that?"

"Cannibals don't eat waffles." He smirked.

Claire's grip at the rail softened and she reached up to stroke the side of his face. It was clear that she could read through his deflecting humour as a cover for hurt.

"Sy, there is no where I would rather have you than eating breakfast with my family as you, just you. Not Hannibal, not Hanna, you. I just need some time, ok? To figure out how we can do this right without anyone getting hurt."

_Too late,_ he thought.

Leaning into his chest, she wrapped her arms around his waist. "Soon, we'll have no more secrets."

"Mmhm." He looked across the empty desert from their high vantage point. Beyond the hills, he could make out a glimpse of the sea.

_Claire,_ _if only that were true_.

Sylar wasn't ready for their turbulent day to end on these pained thoughts. He moved from her embrace and walked along the raised platform, which creaked and groaned with each step. Stopping in the middle, he leaned over the edge to survey the drop. "So...this is where it all began..." he spoke in a whisper, before turning to Claire. "You jumped from here when you found out about your powers?"

Claire nodded. "And I recorded every attempt. Called it attempt number one, two, etcetera."

He felt a strange rise. "Did anyone see you?"

"Just my gay friend Zach, but there isn't anyone else around for miles."

"How many times?"

"Dozens of times. I lost count."

"In your little cheerleader outfit?"

"Sylar, really?"

"Oh c'mon, that's not an answer."

She nodded again and smirked.

"Sylar pulled her close again. "Care to make our own attempt number one?"

Claire laughed. "You are so weird... but most definitely." It was starting to look like she had planned all of this. Claire shivered slightly as he pulled her closer to his chest.

~o~

Sylar shifted his weight as he leaned against a metal pole to get more comfortable. The sun had not yet set, but fortunately they were shaded by three metal walls. He glanced up at the red towering structure. It had kept Claire's secrets years ago, and now it would be sure to keep theirs. Claire breathed deeply as her head rested on his lap amid a tangled blanket that had brought for the supposed "picnic". He didn't fully understand her fantasy to make love here – it wasn't exactly cozy – but the openness and their exposure to the elements he found thrilling.

He frowned at her earlier words. _No more secrets_... As the sun disappeared behind a shredded piece of iron, he found his mind wandering back two years prior to the day he found Claire's face sketched across his skin. That evening he had run from the carnival and flown to her college. He knew long ago where she would be, having touched clothes that Nathan had worn before his first death that year. He even knew which residence to find her. He landed quickly in a garden among the hydrangeas. The warm night air suppressed his shivers from his high altitude flight. The street was surprisingly empty for that time of night on the busy campus, and he only half-heartedly tried to avoid being seen. Closing his eyes as he listened carefully, he soon heard her distinct heartbeat. _Like fingerprints, _he thought as he rose up the window and glance at his most intimate desire.

Sylar shifted his legs and gently readjusted Claire's head without waking her. She didn't know it yet, but their bizarre study session was not their first encounter at that college... or even their first kiss.

~o~

The following day he had returned to the campus and spotted her just as she was leaving for her Friday classes. He noted that she was wearing the typical student outfit – blue jeans, low cut top, boots, and typical university swag in the form of a shoulder bag. It fit with her playing the part of normal completely, which he found this endearing. It wasn't clear to him why at the time, but he decided to follow her at a distance incognito in the form of some random lowly student. He sat in on both of her classes, always a row back, and each time in a different physical character. The lectures were a low buzz to his ears, nothing more, and as he watched how she drew in the margins or would wait for her to tuck her hair behind her ear. This lust. _Was it lust?_ He couldn't tell if the burning in his gut made him want to kiss or kill her. She had something he wanted, be it knowledge, a human connection, answers. She had answers, and it was, in his current frame of mind, his right to take them. He couldn't explain it, but it drowned out every other need... even the Hunger.

By the end of the day, reason began to overpower emotion and he started feeling sheepish for stalking a college coed. He left the class early and sat on a couch in the common room to mull over his thoughts, feigning studying. He chastised himself for having succumbed to voyeurism, following her like a lost puppy, and thus decided to retreat to his original plan of confronting her the next day about his need for help. However, just as he was about to leave, Claire entered the study area and walked straight toward him followed by another girl.

Claire glanced a down at a 25 year old man with thick glasses and dreaded brown hair sitting on the worn out couch. "Are these seats taken?" she asked.

Sylar's character shook his head without a word before moving his canvas bag for her to sit down. Claire stared at him a bit longer than he wanted – _yeah yeah, I know , I look ridiculous_ – and gave him a sweet smile before turning back to her friend, a Chinese girl in a bright purple scarf. Sylar's eyes returned to his stolen psychopathology textbook as the girl plopped herself down in the single chair across from them and continued on from their conversation.

"C'mon Claire, it's only one night. When was the last time you went out? You'll regret it if you don't come with me," the starry eyed girl pleaded, "Joshua's really cool. Apparently his parties are insane." Adding with a musical intonation, "...Plus I hear he's got cute friends!"

"Like?"

"Like guys AND girls, if that's what you are asking."

Sylar's eyes widened from behind his book.

"That's _not_ what I meant." Claire's face flushed red. _This is intriguing,_ Sylar mused. He shifted his position until his hand 'accidentally' grazed her shoulder bag beside him. A wealth of knowledge suddenly flowed through him as he absorbed its memories. He saw that she didn't know where she stood with Gretchen, and she didn't like being reminded of her confusion. The two had argued earlier as she held the bag. Eventually, Claire ceded. "Fine! I give up." She slumped her shoulders then smirked, "Gretchen's pissed at me right now, anyways. Might as well get out of the house. However, I am going to hold you to that claim!"

"And if I'm wrong?"

"You owe me a drink."

"Haha, ok, deal."

Their uninvited guest of their conversation restrained a smile. He now had evening plans.

~o~

Sylar had arrived at the house party before Claire to collect personalities and looks. The day had been both exhausting and painful from so many physical changes, so he decided to retain a shadow of himself. He lost some height and softened his features, but kept his dark complexion and eyes. _A test for Claire, I wonder?_

He stood in the corner of the old Victorian residence converted into a frat house –_ pity!_ – watching the guests arrive and sipping some cheap tasteless beer to pass the time. It was no longer possible, but he longed to feel a buzz to suppress these nerves. Why was he nervous? He was Sylar, the serial killer, _for fucks sake._ Murder came easy. Seducing someone he could use? _Sure_. Flirting with someone who stirred his senses? _Maybe not so much_.

It was soon past midnight and the room was full of moving and cursing drunk bodies, but no sign of Claire. Just as contemplated leaving, he saw her at the door with her friend from earlier. Suddenly it came clear to him immediately whether it was to kiss or kill. He stood transfixed at her small blue and polkadot dress that showed off her thighs, accentuated by red heels that added a few inches to her height. He had really only seen her before this night in a cheerleader outfit or in college clothes, so for the first time he saw an attractive young woman standing before him.

He had to get her alone.

For an hour or so he occupied himself with pool and impressed any onlookers by sinking every ball with a nudge of telekinesis. Some of them were so drunk that they probably wouldn't have even noticed if had omitted using the pool cue. It was useful skill considering that most of his attention was preoccupied with Claire across the room, who was currently downing drinks and faking inebriation. It amused him that she would go to such an effort to appear normal… but he was also saddened that she was pretending to be something else with such a gift. _She was so special…_

At one moment, Claire's glanced across the room and briefly met his gaze as he sunk a ball with ease. Howling followed, but his gaze didn't falter. He turned back to his game. "She's mine," whispering under his breath while the last black ball found its place in the pocket.

It was as easy as sliding in behind her as she chatted amongst her drunken friends. When she turned around to face him her eyes widened in shock. His heart jumped. _Have I changed back without noticing?_ Cautiously, he reached up to stroke his unfamiliar jawbone.

Fortunately, her demeanor also relaxed. "Sorry, for a moment there I thought you were someone else."

"By your expression, I take it you probably wouldn't want to see him?"

Claire nodded. Sylar reached out his hand. "Liam McKinnon," and offered her a new beer with the other as he did.

"Are you trying to get me drunk or something?" she feigned being aghast.

"Guilty, but I can't imagine it would take that much."

"Well I guess you don't know me then." She finally accepted the drink. "Claire Butler." She shook his hand and he felt a tingle up his spine. _Lies or lust?_

He was a bit disappointed by how easy the chase was in the end. They kept each other's company all evening, but all it really took was a hand caressing her thigh as he leaned over during a lesson in pool. Maybe she was just hurt or lonely or looking for something simple, who knows. Not long after that they found themselves in a darkened bedroom off the main hall and kissing passionately.

"I forgot how much I missed college." He mumbled under his breath between necking her.

"Sorry?"

"Uh, nothing." He responded and pulled her down onto the musty bed.

Looking back, he was relieved that he hadn't spoiled their actual first time together by sleeping with her that night in some dilapidated frat house. It had come close, for sure, and he was actually the one who had to hold her back. The following morning, he had woken up as himself in his own body, and was extremely relieved to see that her (mostly) clothed form was still sound asleep beside him. It was strange. He _had _planned to seduce her at the beginning of the night. He had made this decision the moment he witnessed her enter the house the evening before. It seemed like such beautiful revenge to all of those who tried to stop him; herself, Peter, Nathan, and most importantly, Noah. Glancing at her beautiful sleeping form, those thoughts were now miles away and the only realization was how much he wanted to have her more than anything. However, doing so in the husk of an imaginary person didn't sit right with him. It wasn't him she would be lusting for, after all. Earlier, he thought that this seduction may satisfy his need to get closer to her, yet even now that they were inches apart, he only felt – s_ince when do I feel?_ – empty. He instantly regretted coming to this party – _Is this what guilt feels like?_ – perhaps because his thirst remained unquenched. Quietly, he gathered his things and left her sleeping in her blue dress.

~o~

Claire stirred from her resting place on the metal grating.

"Hey Sy, could we get some lunch?"

"We just had another breakfast. How could you possibly be hungry already?"

Claire stretched and sat up to face him. "I don't know. I just am... Plus you've had twice as many breakfasts as me." She grinned and buried her head into his shoulder. "I just want the day to keep going."

"Why's that?"

"As mortifying as it's been, this has probably been the best day I've had in a long time." Claire closed her eyes and sighing quietly, before pressing her body further into his own.

_She could never know. _


	7. Chapter 7

A few months passed and soon Claire was back at her apartment for the first week of class. Small as it was, it was clear that she absolutely adored her two-bedroom place. It was a two story Victorian-style building nestled among a row of oak trees on a quiet avenue and only a walking distance from most of her classes. The building was old but the place didn't have a "student feel" since Claire had taken great care in keeping it clean and finding interesting decor, which included an Isaac Mendez painting that found its home on the mantel piece. Both she and her roommate had made it their own over the year that they had been there.

Claire and Sylar spent most of the remaining warm days of September relaxing on the balcony with a book or beer. He frequently stayed over at her place but often sensed that her roommate did not care for him that much. When he finally called out Gretchen on her glares and silent treatment, she mumbled something about his age and wanting to look out for Claire with people she didn't trust. She also accused him of stealing her bag years earlier, which he adamantly denied despite of having done it. Her attitude was disappointing, as it would have nice to have at least one ally for his and Claire's affair. He let it be for now, entertaining the idea that she'd warm up to him eventually. Claire didn't seem to notice any of the tension between them, and he hoped to keep it that way.

~o~

One sunny afternoon, Sylar relaxed on Claire's bed in her apartment while she got dressed. He loved how long it took her to pick something to wear to class or work and how she would always turn to him for his advice even though he'd never have a clue which was better. He'd always pick the one on the left; fortunately she hadn't caught on to that yet. It didn't matter to him what she wore, she looked amazing no matter what she chose.

He lounged on her bed sifting through her new collection of graphic novels. She had discovered her lust for books not long after leaving the cheer world behind. It was also something the two soon found they both shared a passion for. It soon became a habit for the two of them to give their last read to the other and then stay up late in the evenings together either discussing or arguing its merits or meanings. This routine didn't end when Claire left for the summer in Costa Verde. When Sylar had to send her family a package of work-related documents for an upcoming campaign in May, he also decided to throw in _The Chrysalids _for Claire among the stack pamphlets. After that, Sylar would live for the anticipation of finding a package at his door containing the next new addition that she thought worthy of sharing. He would retreat to a quiet park to take in this new find, the pages almost warm from her recent touch.

~o~

Claire was putting on her makeup in the bathroom when he finally settled on _The Watchmen._ Sylar had also discovered an interest in graphic novels after Peter introduced him to _9__th__ Wonders! _during their years in the dead city. Unfortunately this particular book didn't feature _himself _as a main character, but he still found he enjoyed it nonetheless. Just as the book began to pull him into its saturated world, he felt the bed shift as Claire flopped down next to him. She was already wearing her jacket and boots, but now her hair was splayed everywhere.

"I don't want to go today. Can't I just stay here with you?"

"Are you sure you'd want to? I really doubt that I would be more interesting that statistics."

She rolled over until she was leaning on her elbows. "Or you could just come too! Shape-shift into some nerdy student or something. It will be fun!"

His chest tightened at that familiar suggestion, but he shook the feeling off. "Math. Sounds enthralling... Why do you always mention nerd when you describe one of my characters?"

"Oh, I've seen your glasses."

Sylar turned his eyes back at his book and nudged her over onto her side with his free hand.

Claire giggled, and then sat up again to face him.

"That's ok, I think they look adorable." She picked up a comic and flipped through nonchalantly. "So... Peter's birthday is coming up."

"Yeah..."

"Any idea what to get him?"

"Possibly. I was thinking a spandex costume."

"Hahahaha! I'm pretty sure he already has a cape. Oh god, imagine Peter in tights."

"Trust me, I've seen worse."

"What? When?"

"In the dead city. You get to know a lot about someone in five years..."

"I don't even _want _to know. Ok, seriously, any ideas?"

"A joint gift is probably out of the question."

"Hmm. I didn't think about that. Ok, well if you have any individual suggestions, let me know."

Claire looked at her phone again. "Crap, it's late, gotta go." She groaned and dramatically rolled herself off the bed before grabbing her shoulder bag. "I'm working for the party tonight so I won't be back till after 9. Will I see you there?"

"Maybe. I'll see what Peter's up to first."

Claire smiled sadly. She had been volunteering for the Specials political party last year and now had a part time job with it. Sylar was mainly based at the Petrelli mansion to provide assistance to Peter, but he also took part in the party activities from time to time. He liked being a part of something monumental, but he couldn't help but reminisce about sending ribbons of electricity through his enemies and clearing rooms with a flick of his hand. On the days he was called to help Peter with instructing outed specials, he would fidget and daydream about fighting their battle with powers, not words. Here he was, a soldier stuck in a desk job.

Her hand brushed through his hair as she leaned down to kiss him softly. He closed his eyes briefly, losing himself in her familiar perfume.

"Have a good day, Sy."

"You too."

Claire left him sitting on her bed as she gathered her things in the living room. Sylar's phone buzzed. It was Angela... _Again._ He didn't feel up to another lecture about making appearances at their events, so he ignored it. Groaning, he turned over onto his stomach with his face into the pillow. He hated this part. In Claire's presence all these frustrations felt far away. As soon as she left, however, the restlessness and these craving thoughts would return. Sylar felt envious of Hiro, whose power became fundamental to their movement. The last time Sylar used his powers for their cause was when he made a pot of coffee telekinetically for a group of haggard and homeless specials. _O great,_ he grumbled, _I'm the coffee guy._

He needed a purpose, and it was definitely not acting as a counsellor to sad cases. To all the others, he was reformed Gabriel, working for the greater good. What they didn't know was that while he could quiet the Hunger for power, he could never truly suppress his desire to be his full potential. _Sylar, the Immortal, the Hero._ Claire was the only one who knew about this true nature of his craving mind. She soothed his frustrations and often tried to assure him in her own ways that he was no longer obsolete. _"Don't worry, you have an eternity to kick some ass," she would say._ Sometimes they would discuss late into the night ideas for a specials security force or freedom fighters, which made his skin tingle in excitement at the possible opportunities. These ideas had not yet materialized, but just her suggesting them gave some tangible reality and provided some console. On the evening after breakfast at the Bennets', Claire had even taken him to the quarry near her old house for what he thought was a hike. Instead, she showed him an assortment of abandoned trailers and stone structures and encouraged him to target practice. The two spent hours wandered the site and engaged in the cathartic adventure of property damage. He recalled how in awe Claire had been of prowess with his power. Even though they had been deep down in a gully, he had felt on top of the world. _What would I do without her?_

~o~

Sylar sighed deeply tried to return to his novel, but he couldn't stop thinking about his earlier conversation with Claire. It was interesting that she brought up Peter's birthday. He was cognizant of what had happened this time last year, and he suspected that she was also very aware of an unspoken date approaching. Next week would mark one year since their night of the press briefing when everything between them began. It happened exactly three days prior to Peter's birthday. He distinctly remembered this since he had endured those few days in what could only be described as agony as he waited for a moment alone with Claire to find out if what they had was merely a one night stand or something more. The chaos following the news briefing prevented any private interactions, let alone mention of _that _night. He was resigned to walk along side her or sit across her at the table as his mind screamed with questions. Finally, on the evening of Peter's birthday dinner, he received a clear answer when Claire kissed him behind the Petrelli garden in the shadow of the magnolias.  
Things went off from there, although neither had the emotional maturity to give it a label. The words "relationship" or "anniversary" were never shared between the two of them. Perhaps due to the secret nature of their affair, it felt too delicate to define. There was a sense that if either of them acknowledged what was actually felt, it would wisp away with a small breeze or a voice louder than a whisper.

~o~

Had Claire planted the seed of Peter's birthday on purpose? He didn't know, and as much as he had the incredible power of intuition, it was _nowhere near_ strong enough to read that girl's mind. When he thought of Peter, an idea flickered. Peter owned a beach house in Connecticut that he often used as an escape from the curse of being a Petrelli. Sitting among the dunes and driftwood, it was a beautiful old house – it could even be considered romantic – but most importantly, it was secluded. Sylar had been there once before and knew that if he could think of a good excuse, Peter would surely let him have it for the weekend. The gears in his head began to turn. As soon as he heard the front door click shut, he picked up his phone and dialed.

A quiet voice answered, "Hey, Sylar."

"Hiya, Pete!"

The phone went silent, before, "Sylar... c'mon, we've before this." He didn't like Sylar taking on his late brother's nickname for him.

"Oh, sorry Peter. He comes out every once in a while," he lied.

A sigh. "That's ok. Something wrong?"

"Not at all. I just have a question. You know your beach house?"

"Yea... What about it?"

"I was wondering... could I use it for the weekend?

"Um, you know it was all locked up at the end of August for the year. There's no food or anything there. What the heck do you want it for? I can't really picture you lying on a beach."

"It's happening again, Peter. The Hunger. I think I might kill again if I don't get myself far away."

A pause. "What the hell, Sylar!"

Sylar snorted. "Naw, I'm just fucking with you. No, there's this girl."

He heard a brief chuckle over the phone line.

"Of course there is. Funny, you haven't mentioned anyone in forever. I was starting to think you swing for the other side."

"You are so hilarious." Sylar replied, dryly. "Nah, she's just some college girl."

"Jesus, that's kinda creepy. How often do you skulk around campuses? Are you still going around in that Liam character of yours?"

Sylar really regretted telling Peter that story one night in the dead city. He and Peter had been having a fight during their early years so he used the story to gloat about his prowess with his powers. The fact that it was Peter's niece added to the sense of authority. Sylar had spared him the details (including who the target was), but he told him nonetheless. Peter had obviously not forgotten his moment of weakness for bravado.

"It's not what you think. She's different. I really like this one."

"Strange I haven't heard of her before. Sure she's over 18?"

"Now you're being the creepy one."

"Haha. Alright, you can come by and get the keys tomorrow. Just don't trash the place or short circuit the wiring again like last time, ok?"

"Ah, c'mon, that was one hell of a party."

"Yeah yeah, but..."

"Haha, Ok, we'll be good."

"So who's this girl anyway? Is she cute? Do I know her?"

"Sorry Pete, She's mine. I can't let you near her... you two would be too good of a match. But thanks a million!"

Sylar hung up. _A genetic match_, he mused.

~o~

As soon as the he placed his phone down, his mind was racing ideas. Should he tell her right away? Should he surprise her? It was an exhilarating feeling, which he could sense from the thrumming in his chest to his core. Regardless of how he told her, he knew one thing for certain.

_This will be perfect._


	8. Chapter 8

The phone hung loosely in his fingertips at his side as his gaze lingered on an oak tree branch softly tapping Claire's living room window. Thoughts of his frustrations in the quiet life were now long gone, replaced by unadulterated exhilaration. What a funny sensation, this excitement vibrating every bone and tendon in his body. Sylar had never really experienced this desire to dote on another human being other than himself. There were times during his time in the dead city when he had given Peter gifts of appreciation or on important holidays. This was somehow different (_well, obviously_). He had never felt like this before. There were few unremarkable girls here and there, the last being a patron of the watch shop who had ripped his heart but now was barely a memory. There was also Elle, but his worship of her had been tainted by her betrayal. Never before had he wanted to show this foreign feeling. _What was it? __Gratitude?_

Suddenly a sinking feeling set in. What if he was taking this more seriously that she was? He always thought of them as exclusive, but what if she didn't see this as something. After all, neither of them had ever referred to each other as a significant other and it was never spoken of. Milestones had come and gone without mention. Also, as far as everyone else in the group knew, this _thing_ didn't exist. There was a very tangible risk that this particular gesture could scare her away.

_ Shut up, Gabriel._ Sylar returned and pressed the creeping doubt away. Whatever reservation _she _may show, he would be sure to find a way to make it disappear.

~o~

After some thought, he decided he would surprise her at the office and walk her home, which is when he would tell her about his weekend proposition. He also thought it would be best to be upfront rather than surprise her, since they had experienced enough secrets recently.

Sylar spent the rest of the evening reading and preparing spinach lasagna for the two of them before going to meet her. At 8:30, he left the apartment and strolled through the quiet boulevard, passing a few late night students shuffling back to their chaotic dorms. Entering the narrow alleyway, he made his way past a row of hedges leading to the back entrance of the political science building where the party activities took place. When he turned the corner, he noticed two shadows backlit by a yellow street light near the brick buildings. It appeared to be a man and a woman talking. He approached them nonchalantly, but suddenly his adrenaline jumped when he noticed the man swing something at the woman's face before man grabbing and yanking at her arm. The woman cried out, and Sylar's heart nearly stopped at the familiar voice. _Claire!_

Instantly, without a single thought, he tore down the alley towards the struggling figures. He heard the man exclaim, "So it is true!" through the sound of the wind rushing by his ears.

The man's back was to him when Sylar finally reached them, and with a stroke of his hand the man was thrown hard against the wall. There was a small _crack_ sound. He ignored it and crouched to Claire's crumpled form, his arm still outstretched to the wall.

"Claire, hun, are you ok?"

She was covering her face and he could her faint sobs. Carefully he placed a hand on her trembling shoulder. Sylar's other arm was occupied with keeping the assailant in place.

"Honey, it's me."

Lifting up her chin softly, her teary face lifted to meet his. Her eyes, now clouded by smudged mascara, swelled with recognition and relief at the sight of him. It was then he saw the deep cut across her cheek, nose, and eye that began to heal as her body shook.

"What happened? Did he..?"

"No..He.. he cut me."

"What?"

"I...I was walking from class and he came up to me and s-said, 'Are you the Bennet girl,'... I thought he was a fan or something,.. that _has_ happened... and then, he... he... pulled out a knife." Claire choked back tears. "After he..." she let out a sob, reached up to touch her face, " he grabbed me and said 'I wanna watch that p-pretty face heal'."

Sylar had heard enough. Kissing her on the forehead, Sylar helped her stand up until he could see tell she had steadied herself. He still had the man (could you call _this_ a man?) pressed against the wall. Sylar strode up to him until his face was a few feet away from the stranger's. Before him, splayed against the brick, was a handsome blonde in his 20's in a smart collared shirt and designer jeans. Not one he would take for someone stalking alleyways. The man's chest rose and fell in either terror or rage, but he never averted his gaze from Sylar. Through bloody teeth, the man spat, "What the fuck! Who the hell are you? Let me down!"

The Hunger suddenly reared its ugly head. Sylar's mind screamed for help to resist, but it was too much to handle. _Oh god. _He was going to change back into a monster in front of her. Turning to meet Claire's gaze, he expected to see pleading eyes begging to show mercy. Instead, her gaze was cold and unwavering. She was not going to stop him.

"Fuckin' freaks!"

The man was conscious and squirming. A streak of blood flowed down the back of his neck and stained the shoulder of his white shirt from where he struck the wall. Sylar raised his left hand with a finger outstretched. _So familiar._ With a single flick, he slashed his arm across and enjoyed the nostalgic sight of blood flying with his swing. The man gasped and looked up. A large, jagged gash appeared across the man's cheek and nose. Unlike Claire, this one wouldn't fully heal. The Hunger had returned, but it could also be tamed.

Sylar released his grip and the man crumbled in a pathetic pile at his feet. He moaned and grasped his damaged face, but stopped as the footsteps approached him. Crouching to his level, Sylar roughly pulled the man up by the collar and looked him straight in the eyes. "If you ever go near her again or if I hear about you harassing any other Specials, I _will _find out, and I _will_ kill you."  
Sylar finished with proper kick to the rib cage. He stepped back, and the man lay stunned for a moment at his feet. Suddenly, the assailant clumsily jumped up before bolting down the alleyway, stumbling and moaning as he went.

As soon as the man had disappeared, Sylar turned to Claire, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. "Claire, I'm so sorry, I..I didn't...It's just..."

Her eyes did not show revulsion that he expected, just relief. She rushed into his arms. "Thank you."

"Are you ok?"

She wiped her eyes and pulled him tighter. "I am now."

He took her hand in his but Claire hesitated as he led her back towards her house. "Can we just... get away from here? I just don't think I can go back there tonight. What if he..."

"Of course. My place?"

She nodded, and they were off into the night sky.

~o~

A few hours passed and Claire was finally feeling better. After taking a hot shower, she had spent some time alone in his bedroom, and in that time Sylar made sure to leave her be. It was already 11 when Claire came out of his room dressed in his sweatshirt. They never went back to her place, so his homemade lasagna sat uneaten in the oven back in Virginia. Sylar had ordered takeout Thai food in its place, which had arrived by the time she came out of the room.

"God, I'm starving." Claire marched across the living room to plunk herself into her normal spot at the kitchen table.

"Sylar fidgeted with putting glasses away in the cupboard. With a flick of lightning he ignited the candles on the table. "Me too. How are you feeling?"

"Still shaken, but much better now," she said while piling green curry onto her plate. "I'm still reeling though. I still can't believe that asshole actually did that."

"Me neither."

"I guess things have gone so well since the carnival that I thought the worst of that crap was over. Can you believe he wanted to watch me heal, like some sick fetish?"

Sylar shuddered at the memory, although he had once held the same fascination years ago at a Texas high school. "Yeah, sick."

Claire had already eaten a few mouthfuls of food when she noticed him staring. "Oh, sorry Sy. Thanks for picking this up. My head is all scrambled. Sorry for messing up our evening."

Sylar sat down with her and began digging into the rice. "Are you kidding? I got to kick someone's ass."

"Haha yeah, you definitely got to be a hero again," she smiled, bemused. "Actually, I'm sorta glad I could have added some excitement to your life."

"Don't say that..."

"No, seriously! You can't tell me that didn't feel good."

Sylar grinned. "Ok, I'll admit it was a little like the old times."

"Maybe there really is room for a Special police force. If that happened on a supposedly liberal college setting, can you imagine what people in rural areas are facing?"

"Maybe we bring it up with the others and get some support for starting something like that."

"Definitely, but... can we not tell them exactly what happened? I'm just so sick about being the victim of the group. Plus if my dad ever found out, he'd throw another fit about needing to protect me, blah blah blah."

"How about we say it was me who got attacked and you kicked some asshole in the ribs?"

"Hahah! I like that plan."

Once they had finished eating, Sylar gathered up the plates and put them in the sink. Claire started washing the dishes when there was a buzzing sound and Matthew Good's "Indestructable" began playing. Sylar smirked; Claire had changed his ring tone as a joke again. Last week it was "Psycho Killer", and of course it _had_ to ring when he was a meeting with Noah and Suresh. Noah had given him the look of death, and Sylar had almost died in turn from the awkwardness. He really wanted to get on Noah's good side, and this probably set him back a few steps. When he told Claire about the embarrassing situation later that evening, she had laughed for nearly ten minutes straight.

Sylar glanced briefly at his phone before placed back in his pocket.

With the clean plates now sorted neatly in the rack, Claire turned and gave him a perplexed look. "Aren't you going to get that? Mine hasn't been acting weird all day, so it could be something I missed."

"It's ok. It's just Angela again. I'm not really up for a Petrelli lesson on responsibility. I'll call her tomorrow."

"She called last week too. She wants us to be there for a surprise dinner for Peter on Sunday night, but he doesn't know about it so please don't mention anything. Don't make that face. It has the potential to be fun. Sortof. Apparently she's making us bring the cake."

"Us?"

"Well, you. But I don't know if you've ever picked out a cake before.." Claire grinned.

"Really? How sad, you don't think I can manage a cake on my own... Cake stores make grey icing, right?"

Claire laughed and threw the dish towel at him.

~o~

Once the two finished cleaning up they moved to the couch. Claire sat crossed legged in her pajama pants next to him. He thought about bringing up the beach house, but it just didn't like the right time. It was past 12, but it seemed that Claire wanted any distraction from her thoughts of the evening. It was clear she wasn't comfortable sleeping just yet when she pulled out some cards from her bag and pleaded with Sylar to teach him how to play the speed game of Spit. They played for nearly a half hour, but after Sylar slammed down his hand for the final time to win another round, Claire threw her head back in feigned frustration.

"Not fair, Sylar! You are way too good at this for a rookie. You must be reading the history of every card so you know what I'm going to put down next."

"I may be able to tell that these cards sat in the same drawer as your pot stash, but I'm not Rain Man."

"Maybe not, but you are definitely cheating with powers!"

"Did you ever think that maybe you just suck at cards?"

"Are you kidding? This game is my specialty. I even played Edgar once and beat his speedster ass."

"Beginner's luck then."

"Liar." Claire smirked.

"Claire, you know I can never lie to you." _Would never. But have never?..._

Claire gave a heartfelt smile. "I know." She placed the remaining cards on the table and shifted closer to him. She turned so that she was resting her back against his chest with her feet off the sofa end. Sylar thought that she may have fallen asleep, but when he looked down he saw her brows narrow in concern. He could sense that the terrifying night wasn't over for her just yet.

"Claire?"

"That man. He just appeared from nowhere. I don't know if he followed me from the office or what. It was pretty close to home, though. Oh my god. What if he.. what if he knew where I lived? He could have been waiting for me."

Sylar had once been that type of person, and he didn't think the suggestion completely unlikely. The thought was chilling.

Sitting up to face him, Claire continued. "What if he's still there?"

"I really don't think he'll bother you again."

"But still, what if? I really don't think I can stomach being back there just yet. Do you think it would be ok if I stay here this weekend?" Claire smiled sweetly, knowing the likely answer already.

"No, I don't think so." Sylar replied. The look on Claire's face – a mix of shock and disappointment – was priceless. Sylar would have laughed had it not been so painfully heartbreaking.

"Oh. I just thought... Ok, nevermind, I can go–."

Sylar interrupted. "Because I thought you might like to get out of town for the weekend instead."

"What?"

"How would you feel about spending it at the Petrelli beach house?"

Claire stared at him for a few moments, silent. _Oh god, the anticipation! _He tried to use his skills of intuition to read her expression but was at a total loss.

"Just the two of us, all weekend?"

"Yes. No one else around. I just thought you could really just get away from this all."

Still no response and he could feel Gabriel creeping out. He added nervously, "So, it should be warm enough to go on the beach, and the leaves will just be turning. It's ..a beautiful place. I thought we could drive down tomorrow after your work."

"Are you really serious? Sylar, you aren't serious."

_Uh oh._

"When am I ever not serious?"

"Always." She sat up and turned her head away, and he saw her eyes were watery. _Was she tearing up?_

"You are just... It's just... no one's ever done anything like this for me before. " She lifted up her head to kiss him, grinning with wet eyes. "It sounds amazing."

Sylar beamed. Her excitement was intoxicating. He could finally breathe easy.

"And you mean _thee_ beach house? The one I've heard about with the indoor pool and hot tub? The one Peter promised but _never_ took me to?" Her last sentence had a hint of vitriol, but he nodded in turn.

"And they're ok if they know we – er – _it_ is being used?"

"Peter's cool with it."

"O my god, you are the best. I can't wait!"

Turning to face the kitchen, he made a quick motion with his hands and two wine glasses were pulled from the cupboard. Sylar then opened his bag sitting in front of him and pulled out a bottle of wine.

"Wine? Nice. What's.. the occasion?" There was a tone in her voice that sounded like a rehearsed line of an answer she already knew.

"Well... I don't know if you remember, but a year ago..."

Claire smiled. "Yeah, I remember, Sy. I didn't think you did. Have you been planning this, or was this just because of today?"

Before he could answer, the phone rang. It was Angela again. He scowled at his phone. "Why is she calling this late?"

There was a look of concern in Claire's eyes. " I would answer. You never know."

Sylar nodded. He had been putting this off long enough.

"Hi Angela, how are you?"

"Finally, Gabriel! I was beginning to think you were avoiding my calls. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything is fine. Just been busy."

"Did you listen to my messages?"

_Crap, no. _"Of course."

Angela started rambling on about the event. She had been bothering him for weeks about a black tie benefit event on Tuesday for a new Specials association with which they were now all affiliated. He was also automatically designated for making introductions, and the thought alone was nauseating. However, Claire was also going and it was definitely worth attending just to see her dressed up and to later undress her in some secret room they would discover together.

"We haven't heard from you at all, we were beginning to think you weren't coming. Peter would be really disappointed if you didn't show." Peter was the one who had roped him into making an address to the new association. "Well then I expect to see you there by 8?"

"Yea, no problem."

Sylar rolled his eyes to Claire.

"Will you be sure to pick the package up by 6 before they close?"

He was also in charge of the guest list of new specials for the event, in which copies would be shared at the event. They were keeping it in the safe at the downtown party office for security purposes.

"No problem."

Claire stood up and walked across to his room. Maybe she was going to bed already? Angela rambled on about something about what to wear, and he had to consciously pay attention.

"And are you sure you know how to get there?"

That was a bit insulting. Sylar had been living in New York all his life, he was pretty sure he could manage getting to the Bronx Museum.

"Yes, Angela."

"Wonderful, we will see you then, Gabriel."

"Good night."

Hanging up the phone, he sighed. He couldn't believe she would call at this hour about something so mundane. It was this type of inflated importance given to frivolous events that made him frustrated with his current role as a tamed wolf. Thinking about it was making him feel irritated, so he decided to sleep it off. Just as he was ready to follow Claire to his room, she appeared at the door again carrying something in her hand.

"Everything ok?" she asked.

"Yea, just the emergency of the black tie event. At this hour you'd think it was life or death."

"To Angela it is. She's done that to me before too." Claire smirked. She flopped down beside him again and tossed something rectangular in his lap. It was a package delicately wrapped in green leaf-print tracing paper and tied with grey twine. "Ok, don't get too excited. I've been thinking recently about the fact it's been a year too. I had this sent from back home to my work and I was just happened to have it on my way home."

Sylar turned it over in his hands.

Claire flushed. "I know, lame wrapping. I was limited with what I had at the office. I was never really good at that, either."

"Don't worry, I love it already."

Claire blushed, and looked away from his searing eyes. "Obviously it's just a book, but it's one that's really special to me, so I wanted you to have it... I also wrote something inside for you."

"Do you think I could wait to open it till tomorrow when we get to the beach house? I may have something for you too."

Claire leaned against him and closed her eyes. "Of course."

One of Sylar's hands reached around Claire's shoulders while with the other carefully traced the grey twine. He had never felt so content.

~o~

Sylar woke in his apartment on the morning of their planned trip. He heard could smell coffee brewing and smiled. Claire must be up already. He turned over on the bed, and was disappointed (but not surprised) to see empty sheets in her place. Stretching, he put on his watch and eventually got up to put on a pair of pajama pants.

They weren't even leaving until that evening, but his heart was already racing in anticipation. He was hungry, and figured Claire had gotten started on breakfast. _Sweet!_ Walking into the kitchen, he was surprised to find no one there.

"Claire?"

He checked the living room and bathroom. Empty.

As he walked past the front door, he noted that her shoes were missing too. _Strange, she must have left early for work. Nice to have made coffee, though._

However, when he returned to the kitchen to prepare some basic toast, he noticed that there was only one wine glass in the sink. He was certain he had placed both there the night before. He checked the coffee table in the living room, which was empty except for the wrapped book she had gifted to him. He returned to the kitchen and eventually found the missing glass clean in the cupboard. _Why would Claire only wash one glass? _He turned to the kitchen table where he found a single place setting from the night before with a single burnt out candle. A sinking feeling. There had definitely been two before. At the sudden realization, he nearly wretched. It was like they had never existed.

_No no no no no..._

He darted to the door and ran down the two flights of stairs as fast as he could. He burst outside and shaded his eyes from the bright sun. However, as far as he could see was a sickeningly familiar vast and empty street without a car in sight. He tried to settle his thumping heart to listen for the distinct sound of traffic or the bustle of the busy city. Nothing, not even the flap of pigeon wings that would often startle him as he exited the foyer.

_Completely, utterly, alone._

The book! He remembered the book Claire had given him. She said that she had written something personal that she said only he would understand. He had seen the book when he entered the living room! Turning back to his building, he told his shaking body move forward. His long legs trembled so badly that he hand to hold the hand railing up the stairs to keep steady as he scrambled back to his apartment.

The door flew open and his eyes darted to the coffee table. It was still there! His mind hadn't been playing tricks on him after all. He race across the room to grab the book and quickly tore off the delicate wrapping and flipped through the first few pages. He never stopped to see which book it was. _There!_ He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the writing, but once his eyes focused his heart went cold. The writing style was chaotic, not billowy as he expected. It wasn't Claire's writing, but his own. _I never wrote this. _He had no memory of these words, but they felt oddly familiar from a distant memory. It read,

_"Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend  
__Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while,  
__Pondering his voyage."_

He threw the book on the ground and backed against the wall. Those were not his words. In bold lettering, the words PARADISE LOST glared at him from its front cover. The realization of the truth suddenly sunk in. He had awoken from his slumber into this hell once again. Claire was not a part of his life now, and had never been. So many years in the dead city must have finally driven him insane. He must now be living two lives, one of which had grown into some sick fantasy of his redemption. Everything that had been Claire – her honest smile, the way she would cling onto his hand before falling asleep at night – was simply a phantom. He had fabricated this relationship in his lonely state. In reality, the last time he saw her was during her vitriolic tirade at the college. "_I wouldn't help you if my life depended on it."_

His chest began to heave and he stumbled forward. Bile, then vomit, lurched from his gut and onto the hardwood of his living room. Tears burned his eyes and gradually fell down his cheeks. As he sat up to catch a breath, he caught something from the corner of his eyes. A light switch.

Memories of strange advice given by the phantom Claire slowly came back. Cautiously, he slid his back along the wall until it was within reach. He clicked the switch. At first, nothing, then the light flickered slowly before appearing fully. _Like it was thinking._

He tried it again and again, and different lamps, and each time the beam would pulsate and sigh before making a full appearance. The dread that paralyzed his muscles suddenly dissipated with a flickering thought. _This._ _This isn't real._

With a sharp intake of breath he was no longer standing in his living room, but instead staring at his familiar ceiling fan on its slow journey round and round. His hair was wet, and he began to shiver from being soaked in sweat. Like the lingering terror after past childhood nightmares, when he couldn't move a muscle lest get consumed by whatever shadow haunted his recent stirrings, he could not bear to look beside him. _The brink of Hell.  
_Eventually, the terror subsided and he turned slowly to find Claire sleeping soundly. He breathed a sigh of relief. He had returned to the dead city every few months or so, and each time it was the same, until now. Claire had given him the tool to escape that wild abyss.

He reached over to stroke her soft cheek with the back of his hand. She had never been more real. _Thank you for saving me, _he whispered_._

_~o~_

"Making eggs?"

Sylar, jumped at the sound of her voice when Claire approached behind him.

He turned to her from his place at the stove, his face still slightly palid from his morning terror.

"The city?" she inquired cautiously.

Sylar nodded and turned back to the stovetop. Showing weakness had always been his greatest bane as Sylar, but strangely enough not around Claire. However, today he felt uncomfortably exposed. The frying pan began sizzling loudly so he stirred the scrambled eggs and tomatoes. Suddenly he felt warm arms wrap under his own and around his waist. Being enveloped in her small embrace, the frustration slowly subsided.

"You can tell me about if you want."

He relaxed his shoulders. "I know."

Claire drew her hand across his chest. "Are you sure you're fine? Do you want to postone our trip?"

"Are you insane?"

Claire laughed. "That's debatable, considering I spend all my time hanging out with you."

"Yeah, then you definitely are a clinical case." He turned around to face her and moved his hands gently down her bare shoulders before kissing her softly. "And I wouldn't miss going for anything."

It was an unsettling start to his morning, but with Claire's help and the promise of this weekend, he had a feeling that everything was going to work out just fine.


	9. Chapter 9

That evening he picked her up after work at 6 and brought her to his flat in Brooklyn where his car, a blue Nissan Versa, was waiting outside. Flying was out of the question for their trip, since they would have bags full of all of their weekend food and drinks with them. It would have made the journey uncomfortable lest they wanted sushi scattered across the Connecticut shoreline. It was nearly a two hour journey from Brooklyn to the beach house just outside West Haven, Connecticut, not considering the weekend traffic. For the second week of September, the region was blessed with an extended summer season. It promised to be clear and sunny all weekend, with a low of 75. Before this good news, Sylar had considered what he would do if the weather turned out to be terrible. It even crossed his mind that he could search through the party's database of specials to find someone who could control the weather. As soon as this idea crawled its way in, he pushed it to the very back of his consciousness. That wasn't him anymore. Also, even the old Sylar knew that he was desperate for an amazing weekend, but not _that_ desperate.

Upon their arrival at his flat, Claire spend some time getting ready. Sylar busied himself with showering and getting the last of his things together. When she came out of his room, she was wearing knee high black boots and a long wool grey sweater jacket that buttoned all the way up the front. Her hair was down, but she had weaved a small side braid across her part. The soft tone of her mascara and reddened lips made the green in her eyes glow. Now with her here beside him, looking stunning, the weather suddenly didn't matter anymore. He doubted whether the two of them would even leave the beach house guestroom.

She came up to him in the kitchen with a small duffel bag full of a change of clothes and other secrets.

"Ready?" he asked, smiling.

"Definitely!"

The two were soon off on their first relatively normal road trip together.

~o~

The Friday evening rush hour traffic out of New York City moved at a surprise steady pace. Sylar tapped his hands on the steering wheel to the music that Claire had put on. He whistled with the opening music, and mouthed the words, / _Alabama, Arkansa, I do love my ma and pa, not the way that I do love you_. / The faint glow of her phone caught Sylar's eye and he grimaced. If he had _one_ tiny criticism of Claire she was addicted to her cellphone. He understood that her family was far away, but her incessant texting in his company made him count the milliseconds to prevent him from frying it in a radioactive hiccup.

"Ugh. It's still not working." She complained and smacked the side of it. "It just freezes when I try to text or open my apps. All I can do is make and receive calls now. Stupid phone, I just got this one last year. I don't know what happened... it was fine yesterday morning."

"Mhm." Sylar kept his eyes straight ahead as he crossed the bridge over the East River. It was possible, but he _may_ have made slight temporary modifications to her phone telekinetically the previous day. It was important that this trip just be between them. Plus there was another reason he wanted her phone to be less important. His hand instinctively touched his coat pocket, where something lay wrapped in a velvet satchel and felt heavy against his breast. The pocket watch was a small token to signify this occasion for them, but it had been destined for Claire months earlier when he had begun building it.

Claire had always marveled at his collection of time pieces, and he was thrilled to finally have someone else in his life to indulge this somewhat obsolete interest. It was something he did habitually ever since he could remember. Before the store became his own, as a young boy he would frequently help at his adoptive father's watch shop on weekends. The two of them, watchmaker and son, would wander around neighborhood in the early morning before the store opened and visit any antique shop or second hand store on their route. The early memories were shaky, but he recalled one particular day when he was about seven years old. He sat on the counter of his father's watch shop and enthralled a circle of patrons by building a pocket watch from scratch. His hands were small enough that he didn't need to use tools to set the gears in place. He recalled being perplexed at the time by this attention; he assumed that _everyone_ just understood how things worked. As he grew up, he later attributed this intimate knowledge to his daily exposure to this trade. Little did he know at that age that not everyone had this gift, even those who happened to take things apart for a living.

Later as an adult, when he had pushed Gabriel out, he also tried to wipe away this trade from his persona. In spite of these efforts, he could not let go of his fascination and love for time pieces. Visiting antique shops continued with his growth as Sylar. Even on his way to Kirby Plaza he had stopped briefly at a pawn shop before grabbing some frozen yoghurt.

_/ Man o man you're my best friend / I scream it to the nothingness / There ain't nothing that I need. /_

Sylar fidgeted with his jacket and could feel the pocket watch shift on its new silver chain. He discovered this particular piece in a junk bin some pawn store near the Petrelli mansion. The glass and watch hands were long gone; all that remained was part of the silver casing, the watch face, and the gears. However, even in its poor state, it was stunning. Gothic roman numerals circled the face, while tiny circular windows revealed the date and year. The opal face also contained within its center a larger, transparent window to display the moving gears. However, overlaying the gears were tiny stars, a sun, and the moon that were supposed to move across the face as time ticked. It did nothing of the sort when he took it home and fiddled with it that first night in April. One evening before she left for the summer, Claire had noticed this particular watch sitting on his desk among other pieces. She sat for nearly 15 minutes carefully turning it over in her hands, fascinated by the tiny moon and stars. It was then that he decided to repair it just for her. While she was away in the summer, he had replaced the cracked glass face, the closing cover and repainted the numbering. Even with his intuitive ability, it was a huge project to repair due to the damage to the tiny gears and parts specific to its make. He had even convinced Hiro to take him for a day to Switzerland to pick up a missing piece. It took him over a month of secretive effort in the evenings when Claire was away just to get the gears working. _A labor of lust or love?_

As for the missing cover, he eventually found one that was perfect after weeks of sorting through his father's old storage unit. It was also silver and had an engraving of sun and moon merged together, with holes in the shapes of tiny stars to peak through to the watch face. Putting together the casing and cover was no problem, but it wasn't until just the week earlier that he was able to get the gears to work. When he finally heard the beautiful ticking sound, he just sat and marveled at the sight of the shifting celestial bodies, like a tiny living galaxy in the palm of his hands. At 12 am, the moon moved across the small sun, creating a brief eclipse.

Claire turned up from her phone and smiled at him, and he returned the gesture. The weight in his pocket on chest was not the only sensation in its place.

_/ Home, let me come home / Home is wherever I'm with you. /_

~o~

Claire had drifted off not long after they set off on their journey. It had been a busy day for her at the party office. They had just gotten out of the city when Claire stirred, just in time to see Sylar telepathically nudge a slow tractor trailer forward to get it out of the way. He aggressively dodged around it, barely missing its side.

"You know you are a terrible driver." She teased.

"Well its not like either of us will die if we crash."

"What about other people in the accidents?"

"We have super blood."

"What about insurance?"

"You honestly think I didn't steal this car?"

Claire's eyes widened for a moment before rolling them at the realization of being played. "Har har. Very funny." She teasingly pulled the hair at his temple before turning to watch the scenery out the window. Sylar let his mind relax and enjoy lull of the music. They were just about to enter Connecticut, when Sylar noticed a toll booth at the end of the highway. As he approached, his throat tightened when he realized what it actually was. It had been a year since discussions of the Registration Bill first happened, which would require Specials to register for an identification card and show it at any state crossings. There were sit-ins and (mostly) peaceful protests, of which Sylar, Claire and the others had participated in, but regardless of what they had all fought for the law was passed anyways. For the most part it wasn't as doom and gloom as predicted, but there were some nation-wide restrictions in place that varied depending on the power. For example, mind readers and clairvoyants could not attend casinos or play the lottery. Those with pyrotechnic and radioactive skills were limited in flying on commercial airlines or working with children. Specials that committed assault of any kind were not entitled to parole. As for telekinetic, radioactive, regenerative, electrical, shape-shifting, flying, alchemistic and infamous serial killers, there were quite a few more limitations. Therefore, Peter used his higher connections to pull some strings and get Sylar an identification card that slightly bent the truth.

Sylar pulled up to the window and a heavy set male border guard stepped up to the window. Sylar could see the gun in his holster. Fortunately he did not have to shape-shift for his ID card; the FBI Watchlist on which he was a member did not contain information on his appearance.

"Driver's licence?"

Sylar reluctantly handed over his card and knew what was coming. Any government ID highlighted their special status.

"So you're one of them? Identification card, please. Is your girlfriend there a special too?"

_Girlfriend._ Cute. Sylar liked this guy already. "Yea, she's pretty special alright."

Claire elbowed him gently in the ribs.

"Sir, don't think about playing me. You don't want to get on my bad side. Miss, your identification card, please."

Visions danced of the man getting thrown back into his stupid tollbooth, but Sylar pushed them aside. Meanwhile, Claire reached into her purse and pulled out the distinct blue card. Sylar reluctantly did the same.

"So, Dorian, you're an empath, eh? My cousin's husband's one of those. Seems like you were kinda screwed over for a power. I know a guy who can move stuff with is mind. Shit aim, though."

_At least I have powers,_ Sylar grumbled to himself. Peter had decided to register only the safest, lamest power for his identification. The man then turned his attention to Claire.

"Healer. Nice. That's good, hope that pretty face stays young." He smiled with one curled lip.

Sylar gripped his steering wheel harder and tried as he might not to send the nearby fence post through the man's skull. He fought and thought of an empty city. That helped shake his mind into suppressing the Hunger.

"Hold on." The man took both their ID cards and walked toward a few other loitering officers, who all turned their attention to the car. Their expressions were a mix of boredom and contempt.

_Great._

The man then spoke to directly to a wide-shouldered officer in different attire, possibly his supervisor. This second man approached the car and placed his hand on the door frame as he leaned down. "Where are you two heading?"

"Just to the seaside for a weekend. Not far north of New Haven."

He glanced back and forth between the two of them with stern eyes. "You know you better be careful around here. This isn't your big city. Lots of people around there are decent Christian folk. They wouldn't really suit your kind, if you know what I mean."

_Was that a veiled threat?_

"Ok, good to know."

The man wrote something on his notepad and then haphazardly tossed the ID cards back into Sylar's lap. "Drive safe, Mr Gray."

The gate lifted and Sylar moved the car forward as he swallowed the small assault on his pride. Whatever the reason, he did not like having to identify himself, even if it was all a ruse. Claire asked a question but he didn't hear her or respond. The two drove in silence for a few minutes, and it was evident that Claire could see his discontent. Perhaps to lighten his spirits, she snickered. "So Dorian Gray?"

" Haha, shut up." Sylar groaned.

"The immortal guy from the book? As in 'the Picture of Dorian Gray'?"

"Peter was bugging me for weeks to chose a new identity, so I picked one that would piss him off. It's perfectly facetious."

"It's really fitting for you. I like it. "

Claire grabbed the ID from his hand before he could slide it into his back pocket. Sylar tried reaching for it but she kept it an arm's length away. He could have stolen it back with his mind, but he enjoyed letting her have her fun.

She had never actually seen it before. "Aww. Cute picture. You look like you want to murder the photographer, though."

"Who said I didn't?" Sylar smirked, and Claire softly poked him in his side. He laughed, feeling the tightness in his core loosen just a little. However, his gaze kept returning to the rear view mirror. There was a black SUV behind them. How long had it been there? Since the border? Uneasiness settled in again. However, he could willfully push those feelings aside when he thought about how close they were to reaching their perfect weekend escape.

~o~

It was nearly eight by the time they were driving through New Haven. Sylar reached into his pocket and touched the keys to the beach house and instantly he knew from its history which road to turn. They soon found themselves driving through in a quaint hamlet with lovely houses among manicured lawns. The ocean could be seen through gaps in the deciduous trees, a changing canvas of greens, oranges and deep reds. The paved road soon turned into gravel and Claire was jostled awake from a light sleep. As she stirred, Sylar turned off on a private road marked with a gate. The name _Petrelli Lane _flashed above them in wide metal letters.

"Well they sure are humble." Sylar muttered.

After a few minutes down the winding path, they circled a large willow tree and suddenly the beach house came into view. The two building had an almost southern feel; there was a wide veranda and balcony terrace and another willow shading the north side. Any remaining thoughts between them of work, laws or the city were now whisked away with the promise of a secluded escape into luxury. In the darkness, it was possible to make out the familiar deck and the row of lilac trees that guided the path down to the waterfront. Sylar turned to catch a glimpse of Claire. She was fixated on the building in front of them, with eyes alight with excitement.

"It's beautiful."

Sylar's heart raced as he pulled into the driveway and parked. As they stepped out, they could hear the faint crashing of waves against the docks. However, something felt odd. An object in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to find another car in the driveway, parked in the shadow of the willow. He couldn't make out its kind in the dark, but it looked like some SUV. A dark SUV. This was disconcerting.

Glancing across the car at Claire, he whispered. "Maybe just hold on a moment. Stay by the car."

"Really?"

"Just for a minute. Something isn't right."

He knew she hated being protected, but with her valuable ability, they could never be _too _careful in these times. Sylar never saw her as a victim, and he was sure she understood that when she gave a resigned sigh. "Ok. Just for a minute."

Sylar moved ahead carefully with his palms open. Sparks danced on the tips of his fingers, ready for anything. _C'mon asshole, try me._ He would take on anyone that threatened to ruin his time with his way slowly while listening carefully, he stepped onto the veranda and approached the front door of the beach house. The lights were all off, and there was no one in sight. Suddenly a voice came from behind him.

"Hey, Sylar."

Sylar jumped, and a bolt of electricity connected between his outstretched hands. However, he relaxed with recognition.

"Whoa, sorry if I scared you," the voice added.

"Peter? What the hell are you doing here?" _Of course, Peter's SUV._

Peter came up to the door and he could make out the features of his friend in the dim moonlight. Peter continued. "My mother said you wanted to meet me here. I thought it was weird with you and your woman here, but..."

"You know, when I said I wanted the beach house. I meant wanted to spend some _private_ time here, right?

"Yea, I know."

"Well private time usually doesn't involve you."

Peter's eyes moved from focusing on Sylar to something beyond his shoulder. A voice came behind him. "Sylar? What's happening?"

"Great, is this her? I get to meet your secret lady?" Peter teased.

_Oooooh fuck! _Sylar spun around. To his horror Claire was already on her way to the door, her face shaded in the evening light. Sylar was desperate for her to get out of sight. He briefly contemplated throwing her with his mind into the bushes (she _would _heal, of course) but decided against it considering the possible repercussions to their relationship. Before he could do anything, he witnessed Peter's face shift from boyish amusement to confused recognition.

Claire stepped up beside Sylar and looked bewildered. "Peter? What...what are you doing here?"

Peter's returned the same perplexed gaze. However, within a few seconds his mouth fell open in horror at the realization. "No, that's not... Oh my GOD Sylar? Is THIS the college coed you told me about?"

Claire jumped in, "Wait, what?"

"Peter, it's not what you think." Sylar lied.

Peter's eyes darted from the duffel bag in her hands to her heeled boots. "It think it looks like it's exactly like what I think."

"Peter, please, you don't understand–" Claire pleaded.

"O my god, have you two been... Holy shit Sylar, she's 20! AND my niece!"

"Yea, AND an adult who can make my own decisions!" Claire retorted.

"Claire, get away from him. Now!"

She stood fast beside Sylar.

"Claire!"

"Peter, seriously?" Claire gaped. In an act of possibly defiance and maybe fear, she grasped onto Sylar's hand.

"Sylar, of all the things you have done... This is low, really low."

"I think you need to review your morality. You realize that I've murdered a bunch of people, y'know."

"Stop with the bullshit. I don't want to listen to your deflections. This is unbelievable. Manipulating people to get what you want, to get laid, it's unbelievable."

"That's not it at all!" Claire cried out, angrily.

"Is this what you do now? Play this Liam McKinnon character and seduce coed women? To seduce OUR girl, Claire? It's sick! So much for your grand improvements. You never changed at all."

The words cut deeper than any blade had previously inflicted.

"Wait, what did you say?" Claire's eyes widened, her voice nearly a whimper.

"Peter, you know me better than anyone. You know I've changed. I would never hurt Claire. Can you please calm down for one second so we can explain?"

Peter threw up his arms. "This is unbelievable. To think that I thought of you as my brother!"

_Thought._ Sylar frowned._ Past tense._

"I think I need some air. I'll deal with you later or I might just kill you now."

"You can't kill me."

Peter stepped until he was inches from Sylar's face. "Oh, trust me, I would find a way."

Peter marched through them, slamming his shoulder into Sylar's own before storming off towards the beach.

"So that went well." Sylar quipped sarcastically. He felt Claire release his hand from her own and for a moment she stood in silent thought. Her voice became a low thunder. "Sylar. how did Peter know that name?"

"What name?"

"Liam McKinnon."

"It must be a common name."

"Like hell it is. Gabriel Gray, don't you dare lie to me."

Sylar's stomach churned. So this was it. "Can we talk about this later inside?"

"SYLAR, HOW DID HE KNOW THAT NAME?"

"Please Claire, I–"

"So help me Sylar, if you don't answer me right now I am leaving right this second."

_Did she say 'I'm leaving right this second' or 'I'm leaving YOU right this second?' _Sylar sighed. The gig was up. "Ok fine. That night...at the college party, before the dead city. That was me... but it also wasn–"

"O my god. Are you serious?"

"Please. I felt awful about it, I –"

"I think I'm going to throw up."

"But, Claire..."

"I'm going to be sick and I just need to be away from you right now. Just let me inside!"  
"Please, if you give me a second, I can explain everything. You know how I was in those days. I'm so sorry I never told you. I didn't want to lose–"

"I said let me IN!"

Sylar finally ceded and pulled out the keys. It was hard to get the right key in the door with his hands trembling so much. He swung open the doors into darkness. Reaching around the wall he found the light switch. The lights turned on immediately, much to his disappointment. He was really hoping that this time it really was just a dream.

Just as the lights flashed, there came a deafening,

"SURPRISE!"

Forms suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the darkness. Both Claire and Sylar stared around in shock at the room full of familiar faces.


	10. Chapter 10

A burst of electricity exploded from Sylar's startled fingertips and the room was illuminated with dancing streaks of white. Ribbons of lightning shot out in every direction, the serrated beams seeking any source of electricity to ground it. A chandelier in the center of the dining room hummed and glowed ablaze before sparking and going out completely. The room briefly flashed with the scene of a dozen forms standing in shocked tableau, until the lights shorted with a hiss and crack, plummeting the room into total darkness. After a quiet moment, a figure in the corner illuminated a ball of red energy and the lights were restored. As the white spots disappeared from Sylar's dazzled eyes he was able to make out Ando as the source. Claire hand had instinctively grabbed Sylar's sleeve during their surprise, but she quickly let it go as soon as the lights came back on.

The sound of Claire dropping the bag in hand beside him finally broke through the silence.

"Godammit Sylar, what the hell was that for?" Suresh had popped up from his hiding place behind the couch. The stunned Claire and Sylar took in the sight before them. The number of surrounding faces grew slowly as figures emerged from behind bookcases and ornate wicker chairs.

Parkman appeared beside Suresh and brushed his pants off. "Is everyone ok?"

There were murmured groans in begrudged agreement from around the room. It seemed that many had leapt to the ground to avoid getting struck by stray lightning bolts. Sylar stood dumbfounded as he slowly placed his still-sparking hands in his pockets. It was surreal to see nearly his entire social sphere suddenly around him, when only seconds earlier he was anticipating total seclusion with Claire. He glanced briefly down to his left to catch Claire's expression. Seeing her mouth hanging agape and unblinking eyes, it occurred to him that he probably held the same shocked look. She returned his gaze, but then appeared to become aware her own expression when it transformed into anger, evidently recalling her recent revelation.

Sylar quickly took in their surroundings; the smartly-dressed group of Specials stood amid the pristine room of oriental carpets and tasteful decor. The open plan living room was tastefully decorated in candles and fresh auburn leaves. A variety of foods were piled on the kitchen counter and island to the left foyer. He spotted Hiro with Ando beside an antique buffet, while Micah, Tracy, and Molly were propped on the wide wicker couch. The rest of the group were scattered around the foyer and kitchen. Sylar was surprised to see Maya again. It seemed that she and Suresh must have recently rekindled their relationship. She eyed him dangerously, so Sylar was quick to avert his gaze.

Angela stepped out from behind a china cabinet. "For goodness sake, Gabriel, that was not necessary." She looked flustered. Static had shifted her normally immaculate hair into slight disarray.

Sylar's mouth was dry. Words became a tangle of strings, and he struggled to untie them. "Sorry, you... you startled us." He finally managed to spill out.

"We'll what the hell did you expect from a surprise party?" Parkman quipped angrily. He was rubbing a dark scorch mark from his sleeve; Sylar couldn't help but smirk slightly at this.

"We all thought you were with Peter." Suresh growled, "And you were supposed to meet him here half an hour ago." He added, suspiciously.

Sylar's head spun. _Think quick._ He felt dizzy and nauseous, a sensation he hadn't experienced since taking Claire's power as his own. Within ten minutes his perfect escape with his lover turned into his worst nightmare. (_Well, there were people here, so maybe not THE worst_). The one consolation was that there was no sign of Claire's family.

"Sorry, we got caught up in traffic." Claire piped in before Sylar could muster something.

"I left you both nearly a dozen messages," Angela added, "but no matter. The important thing is that you're here now."

Claire looked down at her phone. Sylar peered sideways and saw what she had evidently seen as well: no missed calls, no messages. _Uh oh, _he thought. _I may have had something to do with that... _The old Sylar in him screamed to fight or run or cause havoc, but he kept these thoughts at bay. Instead, he removed his jacket and moved away from the foyer to join those standing in the kitchen. Claire followed suit, but kept on her coat. She hugged her arms around her sides in an anxious posture, only to move from this position when Emma handed her a glass of wine.

"Well, were is he?" Parkman added.

"Who?"

"Where's Peter?" Emma piped in with concern. Sylar caught her worried gaze. He thought that she looked absolutely lovely in her pleated skirt and pearl necklace decorating her front. Other than Claire and Peter, he considered her his closest friend so it would pain him to have to lie to her about her own .

"Uh, he just wanted to go for a quick walk. I tried to talk him out of it but he insisted on getting some air. He said he may be a while." _I hope._

"Claire, why on earth did you come with Sylar? You were all the way in Virginia, Hiro could have picked you up like he did with the rest of us." Angela inquired.

"Uh...We wanted to make food together at his place for the party!" Claire raised up the duffel bag from the floor and put on a forced grin. Before Sylar could register what was happening, Angela reached down and took Claire's bag and brought it to Parkman, who then placed it amid the stacks of food and drinks on the island.

Sylar's eyes darted to where Parkman was digging through his duffel bag. Parkman pulled out a casserole dish covered in aluminum foil. _Great_, Sylar thought, _there goes my lasagna._ He had saved their uneaten meal from the other night.

"Here's the wine!" The cop was holding two turn of the half-century Rieslings that Sylar _had _been saving for months until this special day. The back of Sylar's neck burned with rage and it took picturing the dead city not to send a candle into Parkman's snooping neck. It infuriated him to see Parkman invading his personal space, digging into something that was supposed to be his and Claire's. (Although, now that he thought about it, he _had _technically invaded Parkman's personal space when he possessed his body and banged his wife).  
_His and Claire's. _That concept, which had recently become so naturally real, was suddenly starting to feel foreign to him. It was upsetting to think that those two words, which had just begun to fit together as perfectly as the clasp of their own hands, could become so fleeting now. Only moments earlier these words promised an eternity together. Now he wasn't so sure. The words '_Paradise Lost'_ briefly fluttered across his thoughts and made him shiver. If _only_ he had Hiro's power to stop Peter from exposing this truth and things could be different.

_Only that they wouldn't be._

He still would have betrayed Claire' trust. Used her. The only difference would be she would remain oblivious to his deceit. Instead, now with the knowledge of how she reacted, he would always question their resilience after a blow like this.

"Hmm.." Parkman held up a small jar and raised an eyebrow. It seemed that Claire _may_ have packed some chocolate sauce of the erotic variety. This was news to Sylar, and would have delighted him if it was not so mortifying right now. From the corner of his eye, Sylar saw a petite blond flush crimson. It seemed like it was his turn to weave their cover story. "Haha, yea. That's a gag gift as part of Pete's birthday present. An inside joke from our time in the dead city. We found this empty chocolate shop there, you see, and, well, it's a long story. You probably wouldn't get it."

"Right." Parkman added. If Sylar had had the fortune long ago to have ripped Parkman's power from his skull, he was certain that right now he would be reading impure theories about himself and Peter. He shuddered at the idea, but at least it kept Claire out of the picture.

"Is he coming soon?" Emma asked, pacing the room and rubbing at her hands anxiously. Sylar rarely saw Peter now without Emma, so the separation and anticipation was probably killing her.

Sylar turned to her. "Uh, I'm not sure. He said he just wanted to mull something over, so he may be a while. I told him to hurry, though." He lied, feeling ill to his stomach. For the second time this night he felt legitimately concerned about the fragility of his relationships. If Peter doesn't show up soon, or at all, he would likely lose everyone on his side. He would be legitimately alone, once again. The thought brought up the taste of bile to his throat.

Angela clasped her hands together and regained her poise. "Well, no matter. You heard Gabriel, Peter could be here any minute so back to positions."

"I'm on watch!" Micah called out as he leapt over the couch and ran to the foyer window.

"Claire, let me get your coat. " Angela reached with an outstretched hand.

Claire hugged her body at her waist. "Actually, I'm pretty chilly, so I thought I'd keep it on."

"Honestly dear, it's impolite to wear a coat indoors. Plus you can warm up by the fire in the parlor."

"Really, I'm fine." She smiled with eyes that screamed. The room grew silent again as everyone watched her odd reaction with curiosity.

Angela's patience seemed to be waning. "Claire, honestly, would you take that coat off already? You don't need to be so difficult." She reached out her hand to take it, but Claire turned to Sylar and looked petrified. He sincerely wanted to help her but couldn't read what was wrong.

"I... I can't. The zipper got caught on my dress."

"Ok, well let me help you." Angela reached for her sleeve, but Claire pulled it away and brought her arm across her chest again.

"Actually, it may pull off the dress too. I can manage on my own." She tried to move back toward the door, but Angela grasped her arm again.

"Alright dear, I understand, best to be discrete." Angela ceded and pointed towards the back hall. "Why don't you just step into the guest room and see what you can do?"

Claire nodded, then turned to Sylar. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she muttered quietly.

"Sure."

"In _private_?"

"Right now?'

"Yes, _right now_!" she hissed through gritted teeth.

This was ridiculous. _Did she really want to talk about his indiscretion now, of all times? _They needed to play it safe, but here she wanted to get their inevitable fight (_or break up?_) over with. A scene was the last thing they needed. Before Sylar could discretely pry further, she turned her back to him and raced to the nearby hallway. Sylar waited until she disappeared around the corner before following, keeping himself at a safe distance. Claire turned to the first bedroom on the right. Giving her a moment in the event she would lunge back, he carefully knocked on the door. The few moments of silence that followed felt like an eternity. He dreaded what truth he would face on the other side. The tightness in his throat made it harder to breathe. When he finally heard her mutter an approval to enter, he gently pushed open the door.

Sylar walked into the immaculate guest room and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight. There standing in a tall black boots, looking absolutely miserable, was a cheerleader.

"Don't you dare say anything. I will murder you." She growled.

He took a deep breath to suppress a bellowing laugh that threatened to erupt. The tension tickled his throat. "I haven't said a word."

Her wool sweater coat lay in a pile on the bed beside her. "I need you to quickly go grab me my bag from the car so I can change."

There was a flash of déjà vu of the red uniformed girl running from him down an empty hallway and into the cement bleachers. However, before him stood not the petrified and fierce teenager from his memory, but his lover with a delicate hand resting on the sinuous curve of her hip. As he stared in awe, he couldn't help but think of how amazing her bare legs looked with that skirt, and was surprised to find himself suddenly feeling very aroused.

"Claire, why... why are you wearing your old cheerleader uniform?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise."

"Oh, that it was."

She looked absolutely sullen. If the Liam McKinnon indiscretions hadn't been so fresh her mind and placed her wild cat nature at risk of emergence, he would have run over to her to comfort her in his arms without any hesitation. Instead he stayed at a safe distance near the door.

She looked down at his feet. "I did this for you, you know."

"Thank you. It is _amazing_."

Claire crossed her arms over her chest, obscuring _Union Wells High School _lettering. "Not now."

"You have no idea how sexy you are right now."

"Shut up."

"I'm being completely serious!"

"Fine, but I'm still furious with you."

"Claire, you can be furious with me as much as you want, but that still won't stop me from wanting to pull you onto that bed and making love to you right now. Surprise party or not."

Claire gave a resigned sigh and sat down roughly on the edge of the bed. The plume of her uniform spread around her like a dancer. Even in her state Sylar could see her grace, and finally understood why should would take on such a conventional hobby.

"This is humiliating. All of this." Her eyes began to swell with tears, threatening to ruin the makeup that had she had committed so much time perfecting at his apartment earlier that night. That moment felt like days ago now.

"I know." Sylar approached a bit closer and crouched to her level. Taking a risk, he placed a hand on her bare knee, and was relieved when she didn't flinch. "But so far we are doing ok. Right now no one has any idea."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded slowly without averting his gaze.

Claire wiped away a hint of a tear. "How did we fuck this up so much? I thought tomorrow was the 8th for his party. If only my stupid phone didn't break..."

"What's done is done. We'll just play along and help with the party, and it will be like nothing ever happened."

"OK, but please just help me now! I need that bag I left in the car. All my clothes are in there."

"Aw, do you have to change?"

"SYLAR!"

She glared at him. For such a petite frame, in such an adorable outfit, she could still be terrifying.

He stood up straight. "Of course. I'll go grab it right now. And Claire?"

"What?"

"I just want you to know that I'm so, so sorry." He tried to read her gaze, but it was same cold expression he saw he evening prior when she gave him permission to punish her assailant. His heart constricted at her silence, but understood that this pain was what he deserved.

Sylar quietly exited the room, leaving his homecoming queen alone in her refuge. At least they communicated, and she didn't dismiss him completely. The cheerleader was now completely at his mercy. She depended on him, and so if he could be her hero just for this small act, then perhaps he would be one small step closer to her forgiveness.  
Sylar made his way back to main area where the rest of the group was still preparing for Peter's arrival. He would try to get Claire's bag as quickly as possible, but while he was outside he thought he would keep an eye out for Peter and coax the guest of honor into attending his own surprise party. While part of him wanted to punch Peter for giving him the keys to the place on the _one_ evening that everyone would be there, he realized that Peter was probably just as oblivious to the event as they were. Sylar walked across to the foyer discretely, but just as he grasped the door handle her felt Angela's hand on his shoulder.

"Gabriel, we were just saying how thankful we are that you finally arrived," Angela chirped, "We thought we would have a party without a cake."

"Cake?"

You did bring it, didn't you? Honestly, Gabriel, I spoke about it _just_ yesterday."

"Of. Course. It's in the car." _Fuck fuckity fuck._ Sylar's mind raced a thousand miles a second.

"Uh, yea, I'll go get it. Um, hey Hiro, can you help me outside for a second? Just need an extra hand with the bags."

Claire would have to wait. She wouldn't like it, but he had to find a way to stop this web of untruths from unraveling. At least that she would understand. He rubbed his temple uncomfortably and felt again the unfamiliar dizziness overwhelming in his system.

_This was going to be one long night._


	11. Chapter 11

Sylar held the door open as he stepped outside, and Hiro cautiously followed a safe distance behind him. Sylar heard Angela's protestations of "be carefully not to let Peter see you all!" and ignored her. His mind drifted back to the rushed conversation he had with her the late evening prior.

_"We haven't heard from you at all, we were beginning to think you weren't coming. Peter would be really disappointed if you didn't show."..."Will you be sure to pick the package up by 6 before they close?"_

Here he had been thinking she was talking about the black tie event, even when Claire had brought up Peter's birthday and cake. How could he have possibly misinterpreted her? _Stupid, stupid! _This whole beach house plan had been laid out for them and they missed it completely. With his incredible skills of intuition, he couldn't believe that he hadn't clued in. However, it was clear that there had been important distractions recently, like Claire's assault. It suddenly dawned on him that miscommunication was bound to happen with the way he had been avoiding the group lately. He had become so accustomed to keeping everyone but Claire at arm's length that anything outside their sphere just became white noise. Perhaps this was due to his discontentment with the desk job work or his fixation on Claire over those lonely months in her absence. Either way, his distraction had caused the first threads to unravel. Now this social circle that he had so longed for was on thin ice, not to mention his shaky position with Claire. If things were to go sour tonight, he feared his waking life would soon transform into that lonely city.

He walked around the corner of the veranda and scanned the garden. There was no one else in sight in the dim evening glow. When he turned back to face his guest, he wasn't surprised to find that not only had Hiro followed, but Ando as well. He wasn't too thrilled about this, but he didn't have time to debate it. The two observed at him apprehensively. It was now completely dark except for the moon hiding behind the willow. The sea was a faint glimmer beyond the silhouettes of lilacs, its slumbering body shifting and breathing slowly against the shore. For a moment Sylar found himself breathing in synchrony with its inhales and exhales, yearning to share in its contentment. Instead, his blood thrummed and he found his sensitive ear's deafened by his own racing heartbeat. Sylar glanced at the sea longingly for a moment more before turning his attention back to his two companions.

"Hiro," he sighed, "I need your help."

"OK, Brainm– Sylar, what do you need us to carry?"

"Not with that, actually. I lied before. I need your help with something else."

Hiro's cocked his head before exchanging an inquisitive glance with Ando. "OK, with what?"

After a heavy breath, Sylar met Hiro's attentive gaze. "I need to borrow your powers."

Hiro's eyes widened and he took a step back from Sylar, while one of his hands reached for the paint-chipped veranda post. "My… powers?" His face was flushed with fear. Ando took a defensive stance in front of Hiro, and Sylar saw his hands briefly sparked red. _Oops._

_ "_Not like that!" Sylar quickly jumped in, and he could see the color slowly returning to Hiro's face even in the evening light. "I need you to take me somewhere in time. It's really important. But really?" Sylar continued, "Two years with no murdering and you _still_ jump to that? C'mon Hiro, I thought we were buddies."

"We're not buddies."

"OK fine, friends then."

"No. A real friend would spend time with the other. A friend would call their friend on his birthday."

_Shit, that was last month. Claire had reminded him to call but he totally blew it off. _"Right. I was pretty busy that week, sorry about that. Well I saved Charlie, didn't I?"

Hiro crossed his arms to his chest. "Yes. But you already brought that up when you asked me to take you to Switzerland to buy a watch part."

"Shit, I did, didn't I."

Now Sylar was zero for two. He made a mental note that in the near future he was really going to need to work on his relationship building. _Maybe there's a power for that, _he thought briefly before shoving the hungered thought deep into the recesses of his mind. The group stood awkwardly in silence, and Hiro must have sympathized with Sylar's strained expression when he added reluctantly, "Fine, where do you need to go?"

Sylar sighed in relief. "Great. I need you go back before 6 pm today and pick up that cake from some bakery in New York." He had considered asking Hiro to undo this whole mess by warning a past self _not_ to go to the beach house this weekend, but he was a bit fearful about the consequences of changing the fabric of universe in this way. Plus the chances of Hiro going for _that _favour were infinitely small. He would be lucky enough if he could even convince Hiro to carry out this simple time traveler task.

"Why didn't you do that earlier?" Ando interrupted. "Aren't you from there? Did you forget to pick it up or something?"

"No, I just like to bank on friends who can bend space and time because I'm too lazy to walk down the block and pick it up while in the city. Of course I fucking forgot it!"

Ando took a step back. _Ooo, right. _Even after two years, it seemed very probable that he still feared him. _Better lay off the psychopath a little. _

"Sorry, I'm just a bit stressed right now."

After a moment Ando regained his composure and ground, and Sylar could hear the man's heart racing. "Then why did you lie to Angela and say that you have it in the car?"

"It's a long story. She can't know why not, no one can." _There would be so many questions. _It was bad enough now that Peter found out, but without that damn cake there was no doubt that suspicions would arise and questions would be asked. And without Peter, his _other_ responsibility this night...well, he would deal with that eventually. Under the moon's watchful gaze, Sylar took a moment to take in any sign of his best friend (_for now_). He still hadn't come back yet. Shit.

Hiro stood with his neck raised high, trying to measure against Sylar's looming height. "I'm sorry, Brainman, but a Hero uses their powers for good, not to cover up lies about forgetting to pick up food."

"Oh c'mon Hiro, it's not a big deal, just a quick trip; you wouldn't even notice. This is a bigger deal than you can imagine, Hiro. Please."

The time traveler stood stoic and unmoving. Desperate times called for playing on Hiro's weakness, so Sylar added, " But don't you want cake? If you don't do this, there won't be any dessert. Plus," he lied with a seductive tone, "I hear its ice cream cake." _This oughta do it._

He could see by the way Hiro bit his lower lip that he was contemplating this potential loss. However, Hiro finally muttered softly, "I'm sorry. I can't."

_Damn, he sure was stubborn. _Sylar glanced at the door impatiently. "Ok, but would you do it for Claire?" This was a long shot, but they were closer and maybe she would have better power of persuasion.

"What does Claire have to do with it?"

"Like I said, it's a long story."

Hiro looked lost in thought. "Ok, I will consider it."

"Great, thank you! You are doing us – me – a huge favor."

Hiro narrowed his brows at him and repeated, "I will consider it."

"Alright then, let's go inside, but first I need to grab something from the car."

~o~

The three entered the house again and Sylar urged them quickly and quietly down the hall to avoid attention. Suresh called something out to Sylar but he ignored him completely. They made their way down the back hallway to the guest room, where he knocked twice.

"Who is it?" A nervous voice returned.

"It's me, hu– Claire. Can I come in?"

At the muffled sound of her approval, he stepped inside.

Claire smiled with relief at the sight of the bag in his hands until she noticed the two guests step out from behind him. "Oh my god, SYLAR, What are you doing!? Why did you bring them here?" She jumped up from the bed and grabbed her coat to cover her form as if she were completely undressed.

_Oh shit! _In his haste he had completely forgot what she was wearing. Whatever points he may have gained from retrieving her clothes were probably now voided.

"Cheerleader? Why do you look like that?" Hiro scowled. Ando grinned and looked Claire up a little too long for Sylar's comfort, so he jabbed him in the shoulder with his fist. In response, Ando instantly took interest in a seascape painting on the wall.

"Seriously! What are they doing here?"

"It's OK! They're here to help!"

"Help me get CHANGED?" she gaped incredulously.

Sylar walked up to her next to the bed and handed her the coveted duffel bag. "No... Remember that cake? The cake we were _supposed_ to pick up but forgot?"

It took a moment of confusion, but soon it seemed that Claire had registered his implication and nodded slowly. Calming down, she wrapped her jacket around her and he could see her reading his plan. "Right... The cake."

"Well I asked Hiro to go back and get it for us – me, but I'm all out of favors. He needs some convincing from you."

Claire turned to her friend. "Hiro, we really need your help now but you can't ask any questions, OK?"

Hiro's brows narrowed for a moment before he looked up and her with his typical grin. "No!" He firmly stated, "Friends must trust each other to tell the truth."

Claire's golden locks flew across her shoulders as she spun to face Sylar with a look of shocked resignation. This was not expected. Although, after all, it _was_ Hiro.

"Because something does not make sense." Hiro continued, "If you were planning for the party, how come you could forget something so important?"

Claire's eyes screamed to Sylar to find an appropriate lie, but he felt a lack of resolve. Maybe it would be easier having an ally. He shrugged at her, so she sighed, "OK, the truth is that we completely forgot there was even was a party."

"Then why did you come to the beach house together if you weren't coming to the party?"

_Damn, he was good_. "Well, we both just wanted to get away." Claire answered.

"Together?"

"Yes. We're.. friends. "

"If that is true, why did you need to be so secretive?"

Claire signed in resignation and glanced at Sylar with eyes that said _it's ok._ "Are you sure?" Sylar asked, apprehensively. However, if anyone else had to find out, he would want it to be Hiro. The time traveler always seemed to the see the best in people, and of all in the group, he seemed the least likely to judge. This was all based on Sylar's empathy power though... It was still a relatively new toy and he could still be totally wrong.

Claire turned to Sylar and nodded, and he felt it before it registered completely. She had grabbed his hand lightly and brought it up to her chest. "Sylar and I… well. We're together."

"Going together where?"

"No... We have been seeing each other... romantically...for a while. We just aren't ready for everyone to know just yet."

Both Ando and Hiro gaped.

"Huh?" was all Hiro could muster with a blank face.

"But he cut off you head!" Ando gasped.

"We could spend all day talking about all the heads I cut off. But right now we really need your help." Sylar stated. Begging was a last resort, but he felt that neither of them had any other options. Claire let go of his hand but for a few moments he could still feel warmth where her fingers held his. He tried to ignore the sensation, and continued, "we need you to help us go pick up that stupid cake back in time before the store closed or else people are going to find out about us."

Hiro's eyebrows narrowed and Sylar could watch his internal debate. "But a Hero uses their powers for good, not to cover up lies." he repeated from earlier.

Claire looked solemnly at Hiro, her expression pleading. "Hiro.. Please. This isn't about hiding a lie. If others find out, it could mean the end of us." She looked at Sylar. "If that happens, I don't know what I would do. With Sylar's track record, and the age difference... They would try to keep him away. Please, it would destroy me. Please, do it for me."

_Destroy her._

Hiro seemed unconvinced, so she added. "You would be saving us!"

Hiro's eyes darted from Claire to Sylar. The agony of the wait felt like drowning.

"Claire, why?"

"Because we can't let the others know."

Hiro shook his head. "No, I mean why is this, Sylar, so important to you?"

Claire stood in silence and rubbed the red sleeve of her uniform anxiously. She glanced up at Sylar without a word.

Hiro placed a hand on her shoulder. "He makes you happy?" _That's a loaded question_, Sylar thought.

After an unnerving pause, Claire nodded slowly and smirked. "You could say that."

"Ok, Claire. That is good enough for me. Brainman, since you saved Charlie, I can save you both."

"Hiro, you are amazing!" Claire ran to hug him, while Ando instantly appeared at his side for a hug as well. Sylar felt himself sneer slightly.

"Wait, on one condition." Ando quickly added. He muttered something quietly in Japanese to Hiro, who grinned ear to ear.

_Uh oh._

Hiro turned back to Claire and looked at her sternly. "We will only help you... if you make me and Ando homemade waffles one day. Just like Sandra's."

Claire laughed. It made Sylar's heart skip a beat to hear a hint of her happiness again. "Ok. Deal," she replied and shook Hiro's hand.

Turning to Sylar, Hiro pressed the bridge of his glasses and stood tall. "When and where do you want to go?"

"Oh, I need to check." Claire pulled out her phone and passed Ando her phone. "Can you fix this?"

"I am not a battery!' he whined.

"Hold on, I've got it." Sylar exclaimed as he pulled out his phone and finally listened to the voice mail from Angela. After a minute, he stated, "the Antoinette Cake Shoppe in Brooklyn, for five o'clock."

Hiro nodded. "Ok, let's go."

Sylar glanced briefly at Claire and saw a faint smile of relief cross her lips, although she quickly looked away when their eyes met. "Wait, let's leave while outside... the others saw us come in." he added.

Leaving Claire alone to change, Sylar led the way back to the front door as Ando rejoined the others. No one seemed to raise an eyebrow when he and Hiro walked past the group. Maybe the growing glasses of alcohol on the tables helped with that.

Once outside and standing on the gravel driveway, Hiro placed an arm on Sylar's shoulder. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Hiro squinted his eyes and concentrated, and suddenly the ebony vegetation surrounding them dissipated into a cool evening street of New York City.

~o~

"Wonderful! Just place it down here." Angela smiled with an arm outstretched to guide him.

Sylar approached Angela with a large red velvet cake at hand and plunked it haphazardly between the spirits on the island counter. With his task now complete, he made his way to the living room and leaned with his back against the buffet. The conversation around him was merely a blur of numbed voices. He briefly turned back to Hiro and nodded, who did the same in return. As Sylar stood among his chattering companions, his old persona chastised himself for his subservience. The brief trip wasn't the worst part of his day by far, and was actually the only first thing today that actually went as planned, but the banality of picking up a cake to save his future with Claire made the entire experience agonizing. From the plastic expression on the cashier's face to the careful small talk with Hiro, fire had seethed through his veins. It was all maddening because he knew the old him would never have put up with this domestic errand. He would have given up completely at that point and stormed out of the bakery to steal a power or two to soothe his hurt ego, the party and Claire be damned. Why was this all so agonizing? Possibly because this desire to please was so unfamiliar and noticeable. Companionship was a foreign language and he was only now learning its semantics, though clumsily and with great fatigue. Regardless of the challenge of this new language, he kept it up for some reason. He actually _wanted_ to succeed in getting the cake. He had wanted to talk and joke with Hiro. But why did he care so much?

On that thought, he heard the clicking of heels on wood and looked toward the back hall where Claire had just emerged from her room, who was now adorned in a green evening dress. The dress hugged her waist, accentuating the curves on her petite form, and expanded at the knees into a slight frill decorated with ivy lace. She looked incredible. It then occurred to Sylar that she had brought this for their weekend. _For_ him. It was more than he could have ever hoped for years ago, letting the days tick by in his lonely watch shop. More than he could have hoped for on the many silent evenings detailing string maps of specials or plotting his way into a shape-shifting body.

_"But why did he care so much?_" _Stupid question, _he knew already. It was always Claire.

~o~

The party had begun to get rowdy and the guest of honor had still not made an appearance. It was clear that Angela saw things were getting out of hand so she quickly directed the group back to their positions for the surprise. There were groans of disapproval, but soon everyone was once again in hiding.

Sylar telekinetically spun a half-empty wine glass in his hand and tried to ignore the discomfort in his back from the awkward sitting position. This was insanity. Here he was, crouched in front a couch in the dark ready to jump out at the man who had not long ago threatened to kill him. It all seemed juvenile, so unlike this serious bunch of misfits, but he realized that if it hadn't been for the huge secret looming over their heads he may have even thrilled in this game. It seemed like everyone needed to relax and have a break, especially Peter, who had taken on so much with the Specials movement. After all this hysteria, maybe he needed it too. He had to restrain himself from bursting out laughing and breaking the silence from this surreal thought. He suddenly got a flashback of himself at ten on his adoptive father's birthday, hiding in excitement in the coat closet to surprise him after work with a lopsided cake and scrap watch piece at hand... It felt oddly familiar, except this time he was sandwiched between a driftwood coffee table and his lover, who currently refused to acknowledge his existence. The others were more than an ear's length away, so this may be his last chance to be (almost) alone with her all night to sort out this mess. And yet he wouldn't even be able to say a word.

The many shifting and breathing shadows remained in place for who knows how long. With so many thoughts pulling him away from his current state of mind, even Sylar's perfect internal clock couldn't say how much time had passed. Regardless, it was long enough to be concerned for Peter absence. He hadn't seen him for nearly an hour or more. For all Sylar knew he was long gone, back to New York to stew in his seething thoughts. After all that he and Claire had managed to hide that night, it would all be for nothing without Peter here. Dizziness and nausea returned, making Sylar groan in pain. Suddenly the darkness felt suffocating.

Sylar stood up and towered above many the crouching figures. From some corner he heard Angela's protestations of, "Please, Gabriel! Just sit down."

He ignored her and strode toward the front door. "I just need some air." _Peter isn't coming_, he wanted to say.

"Ok, please just be careful and keep a look out."

Sylar stepped into the cool night air and leaned back against the door. Even the moonlight felt bright, so he tilted his head back into the shade of the veranda and closed his eyes. For a moment he wished he smoked because he would probably be craving a cigarette right now. Anything to calm this tension would be helpful. He remembered his watch, so he let his jaw soften and began listening carefully to its delicate and perfect rhythm. His _Sylar Field Edition_ that had once been his cross to bear was now his medal of change. It grounded him. After a few minutes taking in the peaceful rhythm at his side, his breathing calmed and the sense of suffocating subsided. He turned to open the door, but the sound of crunching gravel made him freeze in place as a chill crawled up his spine.

"Sylar."

Dizziness was replaced by relief. _Finally! He's back._

"Peter, you're still here. I was beginning to worry you left for good."

"Where is she?" The thunder still shuddered in his voice.

"Can you keep your voice down? She's inside."

"I'm taking her away from here now. From you."

A wave of annoyance made Sylar's ribs tense up. _Who did he think he was, some white knight here to save the day?_

"She's fine here. Just please let's all talk about this inside." Hopefully the surprise party would be so disorienting that Peter would forget the issue or have enough sense to talk about it later in private... and maybe alcohol would help relax things even more.

"She's not fine as long as she's near you. Christ, you were living as _Nathan_ for months! Her own biological father! Is this some messed up way to give a final 'eff you' to Nathan in his death?"

The implication made Sylar seethe with rage. How dare he accuse him of something so low, so sick, so below even his old murderous self. His old defense kicked in before he could stop himself. "You got me! That's right, Peter, I just want to fuck with Nathan one last time. You have me all worked out. Also, you always said we were brothers, so I guess I just wanted to get with your niece so we could be brother's in blood too! Make a big happy family!" Sylar may have mastered his restraint over killing, but not quite his sharp tongue.

Even in the darkness he saw Peter's a menacing flash in Peter's eyes. _Oh SHIT. _Before he had time to contemplate what was happening, Sylar found himself being thrown back into the French doors as Peter swung him telepathically with his own powers. He felt his vertebrae crack and blood spurt down his neck as his landed harshly on the ornate carpet in the foyer. His hands throbbed raw from a large wooden stake sticking out through his palm. He squinted through the pain and groaned as he pushed himself to sit up using his uninjured hand. From the corner of his eye he saw a silhouette at the doorway, the body tense and hands glowing with electricity. The bastard was borrowing his powers one by one.

Peter took a step towards him, hands dancing with electric fire. "Sylar, you are a sick son of a bitch!"

For the first time ever Sylar felt legitimately scared of Peter, but he felt no urge to fight back. How could this be happening? This was his _best friend_. Suddenly, a blinding light flashed above his eyes and he felt as if he were pulled into the tunnel of death. However, there was no pain or electricity tearing at his body. The chandelier above his head had simply been illuminated. A strained "Sur...prise...!" echoed the room once again as everyone emerged from their places.

Peter stood stunned above Sylar in with the same flabbergasted expression that both Sylar and Claire had once before held.

Resigned, Sylar flopped back against the floor amid the splinters of wood and lay both forearms across his eyes. However this mess turned out, it was going to be an evening they would not soon forget.

* * *

_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_


End file.
